


The Rogue's March.

by steeleye



Series: Military Faith. [16]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Wild Geese (Movie) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humour, crossover fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: A Military Faith Story; Once again Faith and Cordelia are heading back to the dust and flies of Yemalia. This time they are on an undercover mission to save the Raisuli from his evil brother, the Pasha.





	1. Chapter 1

The Rogue’s March.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the film ‘The Wild Geese’. Neither do I claim authorship of any scripted words found in this fic. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** The film ‘The Wild Geese’.

 **Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar:** Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English.

 **Timeline:** A Military Faith story, set after the events depicted in ‘Honour, Courage and Commitment’.

 **Words:** 12 Chapters each of 2500+ words.

 **Warnings:** Can't think of any, but that doesn't mean you won't find something to complain about if you look hard enough.

 **Summary:** A Military Faith Story; Once again Faith and Cordelia are heading back to the dust and flies of Yemalia. This time they are on an undercover mission to save the Raisuli from his evil brother, the Pasha.

0=0=0=0

_These, in the day when heaven was falling,_  
The hour when earth's foundations fled,  
Followed their mercenary calling,  
And took their wages, and are dead. 

_Their shoulders held the sky suspended;_  
They stood, and earth's foundations stay;  
What God abandoned, these defended,  
And saved the sum of things for pay.* 

*‘Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries’; A.E. Housman.

0=0=0=0

**London Heathrow Airport, England, late June 2010.**

Uncomfortable in his jacket and tie, Harry Taylor stepped from the hot, muggy air of southern England into the cool, air-conditioned world of Heathrow Airport’s Terminal 5. Pausing for a moment he let the cool almost cold air chill the sweat on his brow before heading across the main concourse towards the arrivals lounge for flights from South East Asia.

Walking up to the barrier that separated the outside world from the arrivals lounge, Harry showed the security guard on duty his ID card. The guard studied the card for a few moments before using his radio to confirm that Harry was who he claimed to be. Waiting for the security officer to get his confirmation, Harry turned back to look across the concourse. It was Wednesday afternoon and there were few people passing through this part of the airport or using the Duty Free shops. This was why the man who he’d been sent to collect had been scheduled to arrive today; no one important arrived on a Wednesday afternoon.

Distracted by the sight of two heavily armed policemen patrolling the concourse, Harry didn’t at first hear the security officer tell him he could go through into the lounge. Shaking his head, Harry thanked the guard, took back his ID card and headed on into the lounge area. Standing for a moment in the entrance, he scanned the tables and chairs of the lounge’s bar area for the man he was looking for. It only took him a moment to pick him out from the Japanese and Chinese businessmen.

Walking briskly over to where the rather forgettable looking man with the sunburnt and weathered face sat nursing a glass of whisky, Harry had difficulty believing that such an ordinary looking man could have done all the things he was reported to have done. Stopping at the table, Harry looked down at the man; up close he looked like a particularly weathered example of a geography teacher and not the mercenary soldier that he’d been told he’d be collecting.

“Colonel Faulkner?” Harry asked in a no-nonsense, business-like voice.

“You’re late!” Faulkner snapped back as he looked up sharply at Harry.

“I’m sorry for all the cloak and dagger business,” Harry apologised insincerely, “but Mr Neidermyer thought it best that your visit to this country wasn’t reported by the newspapers or to HM Customs and Immigration.” Harry smiled, “After all your face is quite well known and these types of ‘unofficial’ visits are difficult and time consuming to arrange.”

Grunting, Faulkner finished the whisky in his glass and stood up, Harry was surprised to note that he was a good six or eight inches taller than the mercenary, he’d looked taller sitting down.

“Well,” Faulkner picked up a small travel bag, “I’m here now, let’s get to wherever it is we’re going.”

“I have a car waiting outside,” Harry gestured towards the exit, “do you have any other luggage?”

“No,” Faulkner lifted his travel bag for Harry to see, “this is everything…I always travel light.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry nodded, “if you’ll come this way?”

Leading Faulkner out through the gate and through the concourse, Harry kept a watchful eye open for anyone paying them any particular interest. No trench coated detectives sprung out at him, but they’d no doubt been picked up on at least a dozen CCTV cameras on their short journey.

Stepping out into the humid English air, Harry waved his hand signalling a long, black Bentley executive saloon to come and pick them up. The car came to a smooth halt next to them and Harry opened the door for Faulkner and took his bag. After putting the small bag in the boot, Harry climbed into the back of the car next to Faulkner and signalled for the driver to move off.

After an initial attempt at striking up a conversation with Faulkner, Harry gave up and watched as Faulkner slowly demolished the bottle of whisky from the car’s mini-bar. Looking out the window, Harry watched southern England roll by as they drove along the M4 motorway towards London. Soon, but not soon enough for Harry (Faulkner made him feel very uncomfortable), the M4 turned into the A4 as they entered London proper. Driving through the busy streets they soon arrived in Knightsbridge. Turning south towards the river the car took them through quiet back streets lined with trees and well kept Victorian and Edwardian town houses. The car stopped outside one exceptionally imposing building.

“Here we are,” Harry opened his door and got out; going around to the rear of the car he retrieved Faulkner’s bag.

Standing on the pavement looking up at the house, Faulkner took his bag off Harry and nodded his head in thanks. Getting back into the car, Harry drove off leaving Faulkner standing by himself in the street. Only moments later the door to the great house opened and an older man in a black, formal suit stepped out onto the doorstep.

“Colonel Faulkner?” asked the butler who then showed Faulkner inside and relieved him of his bag and raincoat, before handing him on to another man.

“Colonel Faulkner? I’m Thomas Belfour, I’m one of Mr Neidermyer’s assistants,” the thirty-something man in the expensive suit shook Faulkner’s hand, “If you’d like to come with me I’ll introduce you to your prospective employer, Mr Simon Neidermyer…”

“Simon Neidermyer the CEO of Nabisco Industries?” Faulkner asked.

“Yes that’s right,” replied the expensively educated Englishman.

Leading Faulkner into a large, lavishly decorated room, Belfour made the introductions before stepping back and becoming inconspicuous.

Faulkner found himself shaking hands with a tall, American man in his late fifties or early sixties, he had neatly trimmed grey hair and manicured finger nails. He wore a business suit that probably would have cost more than Faulkner had earnt in the last six months.

“Faulkner,” Neidermyer smiled pleasantly enough as he shook hands with the mercenary officer.

“What do I call you?” Faulkner asked as he returned Neidermyer’s firm handshake.

“Mr Neidermyer will do well enough,” Neidermyer gestured to an over stuffed armchair indicating that Faulkner should sit down, “Whiskey?” he asked, “From my personal stock.”

“Thank-you,” Faulkner sat down and watched as Belfour started to pour two glasses of whisky, “large, no ice or water,” Faulkner added.

Once the Colonel and Neidermyer had their drinks Belfour started to fade away into the background again. He was stopped when Faulkner drained his glass in one swallow and called for a refill.

“Feel free with my whiskey,” Neidermyer commented sarcastically.

“Don’t worry I will,” Faulkner passed his glass to Belfour before looking back at Neidermyer, “don’t worry I’m dry when I work.” Faulkner accepted his whisky and looked up to where Neidermyer stood by the ornate fireplace, “So, Mr Neidermyer, if you wouldn’t mind signing this cheque for £10,000 which I assume is for my time and to compensate for the rather rushed meal on the aircraft over here, what can I do for you?”

Neidermyer took the proffered cheque and signed it without bating an eyelid, he handed it back to Faulkner who carefully put it away in his jacket pocket.

“Tell me what you know about Yemalia,” Neidermyer asked slowly.

“I’m sure you’ve not called me here to give you a lesson in the politics of north east African countries, but if you insist,” Faulkner paused for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “The Sultan, Prince Feisal was very pro-western and allowed the US to station troops in his country on the understanding that they would help him put down the local warlords,” Faulkner paused and sipped his whisky. “This all went as planned until the Pasha, Auda Abu Tayi, who is also the Sultan’s uncle, seized power and told the Americans to get out and invited the Chinese in, with me so far?”

Neidermyer nodded his head.

“Next the Sultan’s other uncle, Mulai Ahmed el Raisuli, launched a Jihad to drive the Pasha and his Chinese backers from power,” Faulkner shrugged, “unfortunately he failed and was captured by the Pasha’s forces, he was reported killed attempting to escape.”

“You say unfortunately,” Neidermyer asked, “why?”

“For such a staunch Muslim,” Faulkner continued, “El Raisuli was oddly pro-western, it’s rumoured that had he deposed the Pasha he was going to ask the American’s back into the country.” Faulkner eyed Neidermyer shrewdly, “Now I’m wondering why the internal politics of a dust-bowl country like Yemalia is of interest to an important man like yourself?”

“Copper, Mr Faulkner,” Neidermyer replied, “copper…” the American explained, “…before the Pasha sized power I had a deal with the Sultan to develop the copper deposits in the west of the country,” Neidermyer sipped his own drink. “When the Pasha came to power those mining rights were confirmed by the new government and everything was fine until about six months ago…”

“When?” Faulkner prompted.

“When the Pasha,” Neidermyer’s voice rose slightly in volume as he explained, “started to transfer my mining concessions to pay off his new Chinese backers.”

“Ah,” Faulkner nodded sagely, “money eh?” he finished the whiskey and put the empty glass down on a nearby table, “So, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“El Raisuli isn’t dead,” Neidermyer announced, “the Pasha is holding him at an army barracks in the south of the country near the town of Zimbarla…”

“And you want me to spring him?” Faulkner thought about the operation, it might be possible under the right circumstances, “But I don’t see how that will help your situation.”

“The Pasha told everyone that El Raisuli was dead,” Neidermyer smiled nastily, “if I have him I can threaten the Pasha with releasing El Raisuli. The tribes will think he has risen from the dead and the Pasha will be faced with another Jihad, one which his Chinese backers will probably think is too much trouble to fight.” Neidermyer smiled as his mind counted all the money he was going to make. “Whatever happens I will stand a better chance of getting back my mining rights with El Raisuli out of prison than with him inside.”

“So you want me to take a force into Yemalia to this Zimbarla place and spring the Raisuli?” Faulkner wanted to get the mission straight in his mind.

“Yes,” agreed Neidermyer, “but it needs to be done pretty soon.”

“Why?”

“Because in six weeks time, maybe more, perhaps less,” Neidermyer explained, “the Pasha is going to execute El Raisuli as a sort of birthday present to himself, can you do the job?”

“Perhaps,” Faulkner got slowly to his feet, “can your people hold the Pasha in Mogador while I grab the Raisuli?”

“I think something can be arranged,” Neidermyer nodded and glanced at Belfour who nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

“What’s the minimum lead time for this mission?” Faulkner wanted to know.

“Four weeks,” Neidermyer admitted, “but we may be able to stretch that a little.”

“Good,” Faulkner nodded, “I’ll need time to plan, recruit the men and for training.”

“So can you do it?” Neidermyer asked eagerly, “When do you want to discuss your fee, I know you get paid for risking your life but I do hope that you don’t put too higher price on it.”

“Well, first,” Faulkner started to head for the door, “I need to see if the mission is feasible then I’ll send you my account, I don’t get paid a ‘fee’ I get what I ask for.”

“Well that seems straight forward enough,” Neidermyer sneered, “we won’t meet again, which will be a pleasure for both of us I’m sure. All further contact will be through Belfour here,” Neidermyer gestured to his assistant, “Goodbye Colonel Faulkner.”

Dismissing Faulkner from his mind, Neidermyer turned to study the painting over the fireplace. Faulkner was soon joined by Belfour who ushered him out into the hallway.

“We’ve booked you into a small hotel in Kensington,” Balfour explained as he handed over a brown envelope to Faulkner, “that contains some cash and a credit card for expenses along with a false passport, driving licence and a phone number where I can always be reached; you are to deal directly with me.”

Faulkner opened the envelope and put the money, credit card and driving licence into his wallet.

“My job is to provide you with everything you need,” Belfour added.

“Good,” Faulkner nodded, “then you can get to work immediately; I want a scale model of the barracks at Zimbarla…”

“You can have it by tomorrow afternoon,” Belfour confirmed.

“…plus maps of the local area and all the details you can find about the local troops,” Faulkner added while Belfour nodded his head.

“I’ll have them couriered over tomorrow morning,” Belfour assured him.

“Good,” Faulkner almost smiled, Belfour seemed to be efficient, “now I want you to find me two men; Rafer Janders and Shaun Fynn.”

“Janders shouldn’t be a too difficult,” Belfour explained, “but Fynn could be more of a problem.”

“If you can’t find them the deal's off, understand?” Faulkner replied briskly.

“I’ll do my best,” Belfour agreed, “now I’ll show you to your car and you can get settled in at your hotel.

0=0=0=0

**London Heathrow Airport, the following day.**

Standing outside the arrivals terminal, Faith and Cordelia watched as the rain came down in drenching sheets.

“Lets get a cab,” Cordelia gestured to the waiting lines of Black Cabs; she’d been to London once or twice before accompanying her parents on business trips or on vacations.

Of course then she’d been more interested in the Westend shopping, but she remembered going everywhere in the famous London Black Cabs.

“Nah,” Faith shook her head, “we can’t afford it, remember were supposed to be two, poor American women down on their luck and desperate for work.”

“So how do we get to our hotel?” Cordelia wanted to know.

“We could try this Underground thing,” Faith suggested.

“Oh yeah,” Cordy’s face fell a little; she’d been on the Tube before, it tended to be hot and crowded, “okay if we must.”

Picking up their back packs they headed along the pavement towards the Tube station entrance. Stepping onto the escalators they disappeared down into the bowels of the earth. The journey into London wasn’t as bad as Cordelia had feared. The carriage was almost empty and they were able to sit down as the underground train moved them quickly and efficiently to their destination. They didn’t even get lost when they had to change lines at South Kensington so they could get to Victoria which was their final destination.

Finding themselves outside Victoria Tube station, the two young women looked around; they had no idea how they were supposed to get to the hotel they’d been booked into. Leaving Cordy to guard their luggage Faith headed towards a news-stand, moments later she was back standing next to Cordy as she flicked through the pages of a local street atlas. As it turned out the hotel was less than a mile away, swinging their packs up onto their backs and with Faith map reading they headed off in search of their hotel. 

After only getting lost once they found the Europa Hotel on St George’s road and booked in. A Spanish porter who spoke almost no English showed them to their room. It was small with two beds an en suite bathroom and a TV. After dumping their packs on the beds they stood and took in there surroundings.

“It’s too small,” Cordelia complained almost immediately.

“Hey,” Faith bounced on one of the beds as she lay down, “its cool and we’re not here on vacation.”

“Thank god,” Cordy agreed, “if we were I’d pay for a better hotel.”

Cordelia had recently been left a large amount of money by her Grandmother; she could have probably bought the hotel they were staying at.

“Remember,” Faith called from the bed she’d laid claim to, “we’re supposed to be two, disgraced ex-members of the US Armed Forces looking for employment of the not so honest kind.”

“Yeah,” Cordy started to unpack her back pack, “how could I forget…?”

Before she could say anything else there was a soft tap at their door.

“Who’s that?” Cordy asked, she turned to whisper to Faith, “You don’t think it’s that Spanish waiter guy come back for a tip do you?”

“We could always open the door and find out,” Faith grinned.

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

2.

_I left my home and I left my job  
Went and joined the army  
If I knew then what I know now  
I wouldn't have been so barmy.*_

*: The Rogue’s March, traditional.

**Centre Point, Central London, Sunday Afternoon.**

It was the middle of Sunday afternoon when Faulkner, Janders and Fynn shared a conference room on the fifteenth floor of Centre Point in central London. Also there were Belfour and a mysterious man who looked a little like the sailor whose picture used to be printed on packets of Players cigarettes many years before. Belfour had proved to be very efficient findings Rafer Janders in just a few hours and Fynn in only a few hours more. Both Janders and Fynn had worked with Faulkner before and like him they’d started their military careers in the British army before striking out into the private sector.

Janders was a tall, thoughtful man in his mid forties, he wore thick glasses and his fair hair was just a little too long for what was thought normal in the military. His area of expertise was logistics and planning, this was why Faulkner wanted him on his team so badly. Janders hadn’t disappointed his old friend and had come up with a simple yet subtle plan within twenty-four hours of having the problem explained to him.

The other man on Faulkner’s team was Shaun Fynn an Anglo-Irishman who’d been a First Lieutenant in the Irish Guards. He’d turned up in several hotspots around the world where the British Army found itself in the cross fire. On one particularly bloody deployment to some hell-hole of an African country, Fynn had had to stand by and watch as the local government troops (whom they he was supposed to be helping to train) massacred villagers from a different tribe, ‘politics’, he’d been told just before he’d resigned his commission. In an earlier time, Fynn would have been one of those piratical characters that Hollywood used to make films about (usually staring someone like Errol Flynn), but in this day and age he was a very round pin in an extremely square hole. Now in his early thirties this tall, handsome officer had lost nothing of his adventurous spirit.

“I don’t want to appear rude Thomas,” Faulkner addressed Belfour as the two men stood by a window looking out over central London, “but exactly who the devil is that man?”

Faulkner referred, of course, to the tall bearded man in the dark grey suit who was sitting at one end of the conference table. He’d said not a word since he’d walked into the room with Balfour ten minutes earlier.

“Let’s just say he’s a military ‘advisor’,” Balfour explained, “he represents a government ministry that wants the Raisuli out of prison as much as we do.”

“Which Ministry?” Faulkner demanded the instant Balfour had stopped speaking.

“You don’t need to know,” Balfour explained, “all you _do_ need to know is he’s going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to your plan and his decision is final, so why don’t you just start your briefing?”

“There’s no need to be hostile, Colonel Faulkner,” the Man from the Ministry stood up and walked across the room to where Faulkner and Balfour stood, “I’d very much like this mission to succeed.”

“So would we,” Faulkner replied before inviting Rafer Janders to speak.

“Alright from the top,” Janders began, “we use fifty men, four officers, four NCO’s, forty enlisted men, a medical orderly and a Sergeant Major who’ll be in charge of training and discipline.”

“Sounds an adequate force,” the Man from the Ministry observed.

“We’ll recruit in London,” Janders continued, “group and train in umBonga,” he looked up at the civil servant, “I assume you can arrange that?” 

The Man from the Ministry nodded his head.

“We fly from umBonga in a C130 cargo plane on a scheduled flight north…” Janders was about to continue when the mystery man interrupted him.

“You’re going to drop by parachute?” the civil servant asked uncertainly.

“No we’re going to float to the ground with the aid of specially trained swans,” Janders explained straight faced, “of course we’re going to use parachutes. We’ll Halo from fifteen thousand feet, the aircraft cabin will be pressurised and we’ll depressurise three minutes before we drop. The aircraft will continue north, land refuel and be ready to pick us up on its way back; we’ll be on the ground for exactly three hours.”

Janders paused and looked expectantly at the Man from the Ministry.

“You’re doing beautifully,” replied the civil servant with a smile, “continue.”

Getting up, Janders led the group over to a large scale map of the landing area that had been pinned to the wall. He pointed to an area of bush on the map.

“We’ll land here about seven miles north of Zimbarla,” Janders continued with his briefing, “where we’ll split into two groups. The first group under Colonel Faulkner will head for the barracks which is four miles from the drop zone. The second group under Captain Fynn will take and hold the airfield at Zimbarla which is only another three miles from the barracks. The first group will infiltrate the barracks release the Raisuli and head for the airport.”

“What’s your plan for the barracks?” the Civil Servant wanted to know.

“Well,” Janders recrossed the room back to the conference table where he stood over a scale model of the barracks in question, “these barracks were constructed to hold two hundred men if my information is correct…”

“It is, I collated it,” explained the Man from the Ministry.

“Twenty-five of you,” exclaimed Balfour, “are going to take on two-hundred men, how?”

“When they’re asleep,” Janders smiled knowingly at Balfour, “we dispose of the guard towers here, here and here,” he pointed out the guard towers, “cut the wire here, proceed to the barracks, here and here,” Janders’ finger pointed out all the salient objectives. “With respirators and cyanide gas they really won’t know what hit them.”

Janders gave Balfour another smile.

“Do you mean to say you’re going to kill them all!” Balfour was obviously shocked; his mind, up to that point, had never even considered gassing two-hundred men to death while they slept.

“Can you think of a better way?” Faulkner asked.

“The UN will go mad!” Balfour announced, but Janders had an answer ready for him.

“Not if we get El Raisuli out,” he said quietly, “the Pasha won’t say a word otherwise he’s got a lot of explaining to do to his own people. You remember he told them that the Raisuli was dead, and our objective _is_ to get El Raisuli out…isn’t it?”

“Quite right!” the Man from the Ministry barked, “Your plan’s approved.”

“Well done Rafer,” Faulkner shook his friend’s hand as the Ministry man moved towards the door.

“Oh there is one small change,” the civil servant announced as he rested his hand on the door handle. “We received some up dated information this morning,” the ministry man sighed, “you’ll only have three weeks before you’ll need to launch the mission.”

“It’ll take us a week to recruit the men alone,” Fynn pointed out, “That’ll only leave a fortnight to move to umBonga and train!”

“Well there it is,” the Man from the Ministry said, “there’s nothing we can do about that, so you’d better get on with your recruiting.”

Without another word the civil servant opened the door and walked out of the room.

“Well in that case,” Faulkner turned to Balfour and handed him a legal document, “you’d better hurry up and sign this contract.”

Taking the paper grudgingly from Faulkner’s hand, Balfour read the terms and conditions, it didn’t take long because it wasn’t a very long document. He agreed to every thing until he came to how much each of the mercenaries was going to be paid.

“What!?” Balfour exclaimed, “These numbers are outrageous!”

“So’s the amount of money you’ll make from mining the copper, here,” Faulkner handed Balfour a pen, “sign at the bottom then you can go outside and scream in the corridor!”

0=0=0=0

**Centre Point, Central London, Monday morning.**

Walking up the stairs out of Tottenham Court Road tube station, Cordelia was momentarily distracted by the sight of a large clothing store on the opposite side of the road.

“Hey,” Faith nudged Cordy in the ribs with her elbow, “no time for window shopping…” Faith paused to let a big, red, double-decker bus rumble by, “…no time for any shopping!”

“That’s so not fair,” Cordy complained as she fell automatically into step with Faith, “what’s the point of being in freakin’ London if you can’t shop?”

“Remember,” Faith grinned at her buddy, “we’re supposed to be poor, down on our luck soldier-girls looking for work.”

“Marine-girl,” Cordy corrected.

“Whatever,” Faith shrugged; she stopped to look around, “now where the heck is this Centre Point place?”

“Erm…” it was Cordelia’s turn to nudge Faith in the ribs as she pointed to a tall building with ‘Centre Point’ in helpfully large letters around its top floor, “…would that be it?”

“Oh!” Faith looked up and wondered how she could have missed the thirty-four story block of concrete, “Yeah, right…erm where’s the entrance?”

“No idea,” Cordy admitted as she headed towards a pedestrian crossing.

Standing at the crossing Cordy and Faith waited for all the buses, taxis and delivery trucks to stop thundering by and for the lights to change and tell them it was safe to cross. 

On the night of their arrival a contact from Britain’s MI6 had come to their room at the Europa Hotel. The ‘agent’ had been a rather shifty and untidy young man, not the smooth and elegant agent Cordy had expected and she’d been slightly disappointed. On the other hand the agent’s down-at-heel appearance didn’t seem to bother Faith; Cordy put it down to her friend’s different outlook on life. The agent had come to give them some updated information on their mission. It seemed that the lead time had been cut by half and now there was only about three weeks for the mission to be completed successfully. He also gave them their contact details which explained where the two young women should go to be recruited.

Having walked around two sides of the building, Cordy and Faith eventually found the entrance. Climbing the wide concrete steps up to the glass front doors they stepped into the reception lobby. As the doors swung closed behind them they effectively cut off the noise of the London traffic. Walking across the polished marble floor to the reception desk they asked for the location of the offices for East Africa Enterprises. This was the name of the ‘shell company’ set up by Nabisco Industries as a cover for their mercenary operations in Yemalia.

Taking the lift to the twenty-third floor, Cordy and Faith exchanged looks as they kept quiet and listened to the mind-numbing ‘music’ being piped into the car. Arriving at their floor the lift decelerated rapidly and opened its doors. With a self-satisfied sigh the lift closed its doors and went about its business after leaving Cordy and Faith standing in a deserted corridor.

“Which way now?” Cordy asked when no one appeared to lead them to wherever it was they were supposed to go.

“Maybe it’s a test, or something,” Faith looked around, shrugging she led the way down a carpeted corridor.

“A test?” Cordy rushed to keep up with the rapidly moving super-soldier.

“Yeah,” Faith grinned over her shoulder at Cordy, “y’know? Like an initiative test…”

“Oh like I did at OCS,” Cordelia smiled, she’d passed all her tests by successfully delegating tasks to people who knew what they were doing; her instructors had said that she’d shown a ‘rare appreciation of a commander’s true function’. 

“Here we go,” Faith pointed to a sign on an office door, “East Africa Enterprises.”

“Cool,” Cordy agreed as Faith opened the door.

Walking into the large room on the other side of the door, Faith was reminded of the scene in old westerns when the stranger walked into the saloon. All conversation stopped abruptly as all eyes turned towards them; Faith was almost sure she could hear a coyote howling in the distance and wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d seen some tumble-weed had rolled by.

“Okay,” Faith said under her breath just as a tall, tough looking man in his late forties approached them.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said in a gravelly but polite voice, “can I help you, I think you’ve got the wrong office, maybe if I…”

“No we’re cool,” Faith told him as she drew herself up to her full five-foot-five and was still nearly a foot shorter than the old guy, “we’re in the right place.”

A frown crossed the old guy's face as the conversations that had stopped so abruptly at Faith and Cordy’s appearance began to start up again.

“I don’t think…” the guy started to speak again but was interrupted by Cordelia.

“Like this totally is the right place,” Cordy smiled one of her signature bright smiles, “I mean this is where they’re recruiting the mercenaries right?”

Faith rolled her eyes as the old guy winced at the volume of Cordy’s voice.

“Yes,” hissed the old guy, “why don’t you tell the world?”

“Yo sorry man,” Faith apologised for Cordelia, “but she is right isn’t she?”

“Yes,” sighed the old guy, “I’m RSM Sandy Young and you are?”

“Cordelia Chase, ex-USMC First Lieutenant,” Cordelia explained.

“Faith Lehane, Chief Warrant Officer, US Army,” she paused for a moment before adding bitterly, “at least I was until a couple of months ago.”

“Oh,” Sandy Young picked up a clip board and ran a finger down the list of names it held, “you’re not on my list.”

“Nah,” Faith shook her head, “an old special ops buddy of mine put us onto ya.”

“Oh, I see,” Young eyed the two women suspiciously for a moment before shrugging and adding their names to his list, “Chase and Lehane, eh?”

Faith nodded.

“Alright, no guarantees, you’re on the list we’ll have to see what the Colonel has to say,” Young gestured to a table, “Tea and coffee over there, find somewhere to sit and keep quiet.”

“Sure,” Faith smiled pleasantly at the senior NCO before leading Cordy over to the table and pouring them some coffee.

“Have you seen this bunch?” Cordy whispered as she accepted a plastic cup of coffee from Faith.

“Yeah,” Faith whispered back, “some of ‘em look way too old, huh?”

“Yeah, real long in the tooth!” Cordelia fought to keep her voice down, “Some of them look older than my Uncle Tom!”

Brigadier General Thomas Chase, USAF Retired, was the only member of the Chase family that Cordelia could bear to be near; he was her father’s older brother.

“You say old,” Faith sipped her coffee and made a face before putting it down, “I say experienced.”

Standing on the other side of the room Sandy Young eyed the two American women. The Boston-Irish one looked capable enough, hard eyes, he added to himself. The ex-officer, however, well he’d seen her type before in the British forces. Soft and self centred, she wouldn’t last five minutes in a combat zone. Just as he’d finished his mental assessment of the two American recruits, Sandy noticed the door to the inner office open. Mr Janders stuck his head into the room, looked around and searched out Sandy with his eye.

“Alright Mr Young,” Janders called in a relaxed tone of voice, “send the first one in.”

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

3.

**Centre Point, Central London, Monday afternoon.**

Nearly three hours had passed before it was Faith and Cordy’s turn to go into the inner office for their ‘job’ interview. As they’d waited they’d watched men being called into the office. Each applicant would be in the office for five or ten minutes, once or twice significantly longer, before they’d come out again. Each would then have a whispered conversation with Young before they left. During this time Faith took a little time to study each new applicant as they went into the office. It did seem to her that while the greater number of applicants appeared to be in their mid-twenties, there were a significant number who were much older.

These were obviously men who’d found they didn’t, or couldn’t fit into civilian life after leaving the armed forces. Faith expected these men would be eager to get away from their hum-drum civilian lives and she wondered if she would be like that. Just lately, since she'd broken up with Willow, Faith had been thinking more and more about what she’d do after leaving the army. Before she’d always thought that Willow and herself would settle down somewhere, or she was never going to leave the army, that she’d be a soldier until she died. But now, she’d been thinking about what she’d do with her life after her military career was over.

Once she’d joked with Cordy about being the sheriff of some small town somewhere. But she'd always just assumed that Willow would be there with her, but since everything had come out about her being a super-soldier and Willow knowing about what Professor Walsh had done to her and not telling her. Now she was asking herself, would being a sheriff in a sleepy town be enough for her? Or would she turn into one of these guys who were desperate to get away from a life that they were no longer suited to? Maybe she could be a ‘super-secret-spy’ like her Mom and Dad? Faith was getting, ‘fed-up’, wasn’t the right phrase but it came close, with the entire ASID Special Agent gig. She was heading for her thirties perhaps it was time for a change, maybe it was time for her to strike out on her own.

“Alright, Ladies,” RSM Young called after the last man had had his interview and left the waiting room, “In you go!”

Climbing to their feet from the rather uncomfortable chairs they’d been sitting on, Faith and Cordy exchanged glances, straightened their shoulders and marched on into the office.

0=0=0=0

On entering the office they found it occupied by one long table behind which sat four men. In the centre sat the oldest man, this Faith told herself must be the famous or infamous (it depended on your point of view) Colonel Faulkner. To his right sat Rafer Janders, Faulkner’s second in command and planner. To Faulkner’s left sat a handsome officer that Cordelia was probably already having over heated fantasies about. Faith not being interested in being in any type of relationship at the moment ignored him and moved on to the last man. He was blond, sunburnt and thirty something. Unlike the other officer he wasn’t a ‘pretty-boy’; he was tough and mean looking.

“Oh bloody hell,” and South African, Faith recognised the accent even as he spoke under his breath, “You’ve got to be kidding man,” he said loud enough for all to hear, he looked directly at Faulkner, “you can’t be seriously thinking of taking women on this mission?”

“We’ll hear what the ladies have to say for themselves Mr Coetzee before we jump to any conclusions,” Colonel Faulkner replied calmly.

“Please state you name, age, and former rank,” Janders picked up a pencil and turned to a fresh page of the notebook that lay in front of him, “and any pertinent military experience.”

“Cordelia Chase,” Cordy began, “and a gentleman never asks a lady’s age,” this comment elicited quiet laughter from the men behind table, even Mr Coetzee. “Until recently I was a First Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps where I flew choppers. I’ve seen combat in Iraq, Afghanistan and Yemalia…”

“You’ve served in Yemalia?” Faulkner asked obviously very interested in what Cordy had to say.

“Yeah,” Cordy nodded her head, “I was deployed there for nearly a year,” Cordy gave a gentle laugh, “you could say I was one of the last Marines to leave the place.”

“Interesting,” Faulkner, “just how much of the country did you see?”

“I was based at Mogador International,” Cordy explained, “I flew missions up and down the coast as well as inland, I musta seen most of the country, not that there’s much to see.”

“Indeed,” Faulkner nodded his head, “Can I ask you why you parted company with the American Marines?”

“Money issues,” Cordy replied; she had in fact recently had ‘money issues’ with the Corps, she’d inherited _a lot_ of money when her grandmother had died and the Marine Corps had been under the mistaken impression that she’d want to leave, she hadn’t and now everyone was happy again.

“Money issues?” Faulkner fished for more information.

“I didn’t think the Corps was paying me enough to risk my pretty white ass,” Cordy shrugged, “nice though the Silver Star and Purple Hearts were, they wouldn’t promote me so I left.”

“I see,” Faulkner turned his eyes onto Faith.

“Faith Lehane, twenty-nine,” Faith didn’t mind telling people how old she was, “I’ve served in Motor Transport, the MP’s and lastly in ACID. I got the Silver and Bronze Stars in Iraq and I’ve served in Yemalia, first in transport and later with ACID.”

Like all good cover stories Faith and Cordy’s were based in fact and would stand up to even the closest scrutiny.

“Another Yemalia veteran,” observed Janders as he made notes in his book, “what did we do to be so honoured I wonder?”

“The last rank I held was Chief Warrant Officer in ACID,” Faith concluded.

“Can I ask why you left?” Shaun Fynn asked with a smile.

“Army didn’t like my girlfriend,” Faith replied stiffly.

“How very short sighted of them,” Fynn smiled broadly at Faith, “I’m sure the young woman is charming, whoever she is.”

“I thought so,” Faith added, “and there’s something else ya should know, both the L-t,” Faith gestured to Cordy, “an’ me know the Raisuli…that is who we’re after, right?”

“WHAT!?” Faulkner exclaimed while at the same time wondering who’d leaked this information.

“Yeah,” Faith nodded, “ya could say we were both guests of the old goat for a while back there.”

“I do seem to remember something about ‘the old goat’, as Miss Lehane calls him,” Janders started to explain, “taking some American hostages last year, not long before the Pasha managed to grab…” Janders gave Faith an amused look, “…the old goat.”

“Just how well did you know the old…the Raisuli?” Faulkner wanted to know.

“Well enough,” Cordy replied.

“Yeah,” Faith agreed, “he’s a nice guy.”

“High praise indeed,” muttered Fynn.

“You can’t be serious,” Coetzee looked at the other men sitting with him, “you’re actually thinking of taking them with us aren’t you?”

“Mr Coetzee, under the circumstances I’d be foolish not to,” Faulkner replied, “Two friendly faces…such attractive ones at that,” he added with ‘old-world’ charm, “will go a long way to getting the Raisuli to trust us.”

“Erm, Colonel,” Faith spoke again, “me an’ the L-t were wondering what ya wanted the Raisuli for…if its something bad you can count us out.”

“You can trust me here,” Faulkner reassured Faith, “nothing bad will happen to the Raisuli at our hands, in fact its important that he stays alive for as long as possible.”

“Cool,” Faith glanced at Cordy and got an affirmative nod from her friend.

“Alright ladies,” Janders glanced at Faulkner before he continued, “I think you’ve got the job; you Miss Chase will be our junior officer and pilot and Miss Lehane will be Warrant Officer under Mr Young. This all assumes that your stories check out, we’ll contact you with your contracts within forty-eight hours if they do. If they don’t,” Janders sighed heavily, “you’ll never hear from us again, good afternoon.”

0=0=0=0

Janders watched Faith close the door behind her and then he waited a moment or two for the two women to leave the waiting room; when he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be overheard he turned to his old friend and smiled.

“Of course they’re both CIA plants,” Janders pointed out, “if they’re not actual agents they’re working for the CIA, transferred in from other agencies. Neidermyer must have done something to get in the CIA’s bad books.”

“Which could all work to our advantage,” Faulkner pointed out, “I don’t like our boss,” he mused, “the money he’s offering is too much and he hasn’t complained once about the invoices Rafer has put in for equipment and other expenses, I think he intends to leave us hanging if it profits him to do so.”

“So why continue with the operation?” Pieter Coetzee wanted to know.

“Call me an old romantic if you like,” Faulkner said with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I think Yemalia would be a better country being ruled by the Raisuli than by the Pasha.” Faulkner went on to explain, “The Pasha is a money hungry thug out only for what he can get for himself, the Raisuli,” Faulkner paused for a moment before continuing, “from everything I’ve read about the man he's a true patriot.”

“You intend to put him in power don’t you?” Coetzee asked, “With fifty men…?”

“And two women…” Fynn corrected with a smirk.

“Well if you think about it, it puts us in a win-win situation,” Faulkner stood up and walked over to the window and stared out at the London skyline for a moment. “If we can put the Raisuli in the Sultan’s Palace it’ll be a kick in the teeth for Neidermyer. Plus the Americans are likely to be happy about having the Pasha and his Chinese supporters out of the picture, so maybe having two CIA plants with us wouldn’t be a bad thing and…” Faulkner turned to look at his staff again, “…I’m getting old and I need somewhere warm to retire to.”

“You’re not the only one,” Rafer agreed, “Look I’ll see what my contacts can find out about our latest recruits. I take it as long as they check out they’re in?”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Faulkner agreed.

“Or me,” Fynn added.

“I suppose not,” Coetzee added reluctantly, “as long as they don’t hold us back, I can live with it.”

A week later Faith and Cordelia found themselves in Africa.

0=0=0=0

**An abandoned Army outpost in Northern umBonga.**

“I thought Yemalia was bad,” Cordy observed as she got out of the umBongan army Land Rover, she turned to look at Faith, “I mean they didn’t have one shopping mall, even in the capital!”

“Whatever,” Faith shrugged her shoulders and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her camouflaged scarf, “What is it with you an’ shopping anyway?”

“It’s a hobby,” Cordy pointed out as she retrieved their gear from the back of the Rover, “like you and your guns and knives and bows an’ arrows…do you do anything that doesn’t involve weapons?”

“Nothing I’m telling you about,” Faith took her kit bag from Cordy’s hand.

“Ewww,” Cordy shivered dramatically, “I don’t think I want to know…”

“Talking about your sex-life…” Faith leered at Cordy, “…how are you and the handsome Captain Fynn getting on?”

“A lady doesn’t talk about that sorta stuff,” Cordy pointed out.

“Hey!” Faith laughed, “But you’re only a lady by Act of Congress!”

“You know you can really go off people?” Cordy scowled; the truth was that she and Shaun Fynn were ‘getting on’ very well, thank-you for asking; it had been so long since Cordy had had a lover and she’d almost forgotten what it was like.

“Y’know he’ll dump you as soon as this mission is over,” Faith pointed out quietly; Cordy was her friend and she didn’t want to see her hurt.

“Oh god, I know that,” Cordy shrugged, “he’s not a ‘keeper’ he’s not the sort to settle down while the little woman flies into hot el-zees.”

“As long as you know that,” Faith replied, “never understood why ya never got y’self a girlfriend.”

“Faith…!” Cordy didn’t get a chance to complete what she was about to say because RSM Young turned up.

“Miss Chase,” he nodded to Cordy before greeting Faith, “Faith, if you’d both come with me I’ll show you to you quarters,” not offering to carry their bags he led the two women towards one of the camp’s barrack blocks. “I’ve found you a nice room at the end of the block here, you’ll have to share but you’ll have your own bathroom…no need to start roughing it until we have to I say.”

“Ya do know we’ve both been on combat tours, RSM,” Faith pointed out, “we can buckle for our dust with the best of ‘em.”

“I know,” RSM Young opened the door to the barrack block and held it open for Faith and Cordy, “but any fool can make themselves uncomfortable.”

RSM Young led them down a long corridor towards a door at the far end.

“That’s the Colonel’s room and the other officer’s room there,” he indicated doors as he passed them, “and my room is next to yours.”

“I get it,” Cordelia called out, “the officers have to share while the RSM gets a room to himself!”

“Of course, Ma’am,” a ghost of a smile crossed Young’s lips as he showed Cordy and Faith into their room; as Faith put down her gear he called over to her, “Faith, if you could join me outside for a moment?”

“Sure RSM,” Faith replied after casting Cordy a look; with most of the mercenaries being ex-British Army, forms of address were different from those of an American unit.

While on duty it was always RSM and Chief/Miss Lehane (being an officer, Cordy was either Ma'am or Miss Chase), it was only when they were sharing a beer in the evening did things relax a little and everyone reverted to first names…Colonel Faulkner’s first name, however, was always ‘Colonel’.

“What can I do for you, RSM?” Faith asked as she stepped outside under the hot sun.

“We’ll be starting intensive training tomorrow,” Young pointed out.

“An’ ya worried about me not being able to keep…” Faith began but Young interrupted her.

“I’m not worried about you,” Young explained, “It’s Miss Chase I’m concerned about…”

“Hey, she’s a Marine she can hack it,” Faith sprang to her friend’s defence.

“Oh come on Faith,” Young almost whispered, “I’ve seen her limp…”

“Yeah, okay so she limps once in a while,” Faith replied defensively, “but she can still hack it, okay?”

“I’ll take your word for it, but,” Young paused for a heart beat, “I also notice she’s never done a parachute jump, we’ve got one to do and its got to be perfect.”

“Give me a week,” Faith promised, “and I’ll have her jumping with the best of 'em.”

“Mind you do,” Young nodded, “I’d hate to have to leave her behind…now,” suddenly the RSM’s voice took on a more conversational tone, “we’ll start with an easy run…about five miles I think, start at zero-six-thirty tomorrow morning, you up for that?”

“Not a problem, RSM,” Faith agreed, “walk in the park!”

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

4.

_Gave me a gun and a big red coat  
Gave me lots of drilling  
If I knew then what I know now  
I wouldn't have took the shilling.*_

*: Rogue's March, traditional.

“If anyone tried to totally convince me that I’m still alive,” Cordelia groaned, “I doubt I’d believe them.”

The first couple of days ‘training’ (Cordy had called it sadistic torture) had been hard on her, but she’d kept up…somehow. Being a Marine she took pride in her fitness, but even she wasn’t used to running around in what was basically a desert in full combat gear. Now she sat on an uncomfortable chair in the officer’s rec-room with the rest of the unit’s officers, a glass of cold beer in her hand.

“I’m just as much of a wreck as anyone,” Colonel Faulkner sighed wearily as he slowly pushed himself up from his chair, “Alright gentlemen,” standing up now (although he did look as if he was about to fall over) he walked slowly towards the map table that dominated the centre of the room, “and lady,” he nodded at Cordy, “lets get down to business, there’s one problem left to be solved.”

Standing over the plan of the Yemali barracks where the Raisuli was being held he studied it carefully.

“The sentries,” Faulkner sat down on a chair next to the table and signalled every one to gather ‘round, “one there,” Faulkner pointed at the map, “two more here and here…hundred yards of clear killing ground so there’s no way we can sneak up on them.”

Looking at the map, Cordy couldn’t help but think that if they'd been able to get to the camp while it was still dark, super-soldier Faith could easily sneak up on the guards and kill them without making a sound. However, they were using a scheduled, civilian flight as a cover for their insertion, so they’d only get to the camp at about dawn.

“We can’t afford to make one sound,” Rafer Janders pointed out.

“Unless we actually do want to fight two-hundred angry Yemali soldiers,” Cordy added.

“Not my first choice,” Shaun Fynn agreed.

“They’ll have to be killed instantly,” Rafer continued, “and silently.”

“And there’s no cover for a hundred yards?” Pieter Coetzee asked as he studied the map.

“OOH!” Cordelia jumped in her seat.

“Shaun would you stop goosing Miss Chase please,” Faulkner said dead-pan.

“No!” Cordy replied excitedly, she’d just remembered something.

“You have a suggestion, Miss Chase?” Rafer asked hiding his smile behind his beer glass.

“Yes!” Cordy calmed down and started to explain, “Faith…”

“Chief Lehane?” Faulkner asked, “What about her?”

“You’re not suggesting that we use our indomitable Chief as some sort of ‘distraction’, are you?” Shaun asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“No!” Cordy frowned, “Look shut up and let me explain,” she cast Faulkner a worried look before adding, “Sir.” Cordy took a deep breath, “Look, amongst her many other talents Chiefie Faith is a hot shot with a bow…”

“A bow?” Shaun Fynn asked querulously, “You want her to play Robin Hood perhaps…complete with green tights?”

“You know you can go off people?” Cordy said pointedly; even if she wasn’t feeling like a warmed up corpse, Shaun Fynn would not be seeing her ass tonight! “Look, lame brain,” Cordy continued, “a bow is silent and deadly…much like Faith herself, why not ask her in and see what she says?”

“Alright,” Faulkner nodded, “seeing how no one else has come up with even a suggestion let alone a better one, someone go find Chief Lehane.”

Ten minutes later they’d found Faith and explained the problem to her as she’d studied the plan.

“Yeah, sure,” Faith nodded her head, “I can make that shot, Colonel.”

“And you’re sure you can kill all three guards?” Faulkner wanted to know.

“I can have all three shafts in the air at once if ya like,” Faith grinned, “I’ll use hunting arrowheads an’ go for neck shots. They’ll have bled to death before they know what hit ‘em.”

“Cool,” Cordy smiled.

“Indeed,” agreed Rafer, “where can we get a bow?”

“There’s a place in Durban,” Pieter volunteered, “if the Chief tells me what she needs I can contact them and they should get the bow to us in a couple of days.”

“Good!” Faulkner stood up signifying that the meeting was over, “That’s settled then,” he glanced at Faith, “Chief you get together with Pieter here and tell him what you need…now if there’s nothing else I’m away to my bed.”

After a chorus of ‘goodnights’, Cordy found herself alone with Shaun.

“Want another beer?” Fynn asked holding up a beer can that dripped with condensation.

“Yeah why not?” the beer wasn’t very strong and she could easily manage another.

“Your friend, Chief Lehane,” Shaun began as he poured the beer, “scary woman, her girlfriend must be something special.”

“Oh she was,” Cordy agreed as she accepted the beer from Shaun’s hand, “if you’d ever meet Willow Rosenberg…”

“Willow Rosenberg?” Shaun replied in disbelief, “A Jewish hippy?”

“Like I was going to say,” Cordy went on, “don’t be fooled by her innocent looks…she’s a stone cold killer just like Faith.”

“I thought you said you were Faith’s friend,” Shaun took the opportunity to stand a little closer to Cordy.

“Oh I am,” Cordy sipped her beer, “I love Faith to bits…but she’s still a killer…she's also the kind of killer who’d fight her way into hell to get you out.” Cordy paused as she remembered the last time she’d been in Yemalia, “Last time I was in Yemalia, I ordered her to leave me behind and save herself…she wouldn’t go, she wouldn’t leave me behind, she’s that kinda woman…but hey,” Cordy gave Shaun Fynn a warning look, “never piss her off, understand?”

“My dear Cordelia,” Shaun smiled as he slipped his arm around Cordy’s shoulders, “I have no intention of pissing anyone off.”

0=0=0=0

“You were late in last night,” Faith observed as she rolled out of bed the following morning.

“Yeah,” Cordy groaned as she threw her arm across her eyes in a futile attempt to keep the morning sun from blinding her, “Shaun an’ me we got…”

“Yeah I can guess what ya got,” Faith collected her washing things and headed for the bathroom, “hope it doesn’t slow ya down,” Faith called from the bathroom, “Twenty mile forced march today...in full gear!”

“Oh god!” Cordy groaned pitifully as she climbed shakily from her bed.

“I hope last night was worth it?” Faith called.

“Oh yeah,” Cordy smiled at the memory of the previous night’s activities, “It was sure worth it!”

0=0=0=0

“ATTACK ME!” Faith screamed at the mercenary soldier who stood reluctantly in front of her.

It was near the end of the first week of training and Faith was putting some of the guys through an unarmed-combat refresher course.

“Come on ya big pussy!” Faith sneered trying to goad the big guy into attacking her, still he wouldn’t move, “Oh f’fuck’s sake!”

Her patience gone, Faith stepped towards the mercenary and in about two seconds flat she’d taken his knife away from him and left him moaning on the hard, dusty ground.

“Look guys,” Faith turned towards the other men in the squad her tone of voice a lot softer than before, “Ya gotta get over this not attacking women thing. Y’know this Pasha dude has got female bodyguards and they won’t think twice about killing you…so…” Faith grinned evilly, “…who’s next?”

There was an audible sigh of relief as the call went up for all officers plus RSM Young and Chief Lehane to report to Colonel Faulkner. Leaving her squad to fight amongst themselves for awhile, Faith trotted over to the Headquarters block, she was the first to arrive but only just.

“What’s going on?” Cordy asked the question that everyone had going through their minds.

“Bad news,” Colonel Faulkner announced, “we’re going to have to go in tonight.”

“What!?” Everyone demanded.

“I thought we had another week to knock the men into shape, Sir?” RSM Young pointed out.

“Yes, so did I,” Colonel Faulkner looked at his officers and senior NCOs and felt reassured, “but we’ve received new intelligence and we have to go tonight,” Faulkner sighed heavily, “It seems that some Mad Mullah says that Allah sent him a vision that the Raisuli is still alive.”

“Crap!” Shaun Fynn breathed.

“Precisely my feelings,” Faulkner agreed, “and the other piece of good news is that the Pasha is flying down to Zimbarla tomorrow to put a bullet or two in the back of the Raisuli’s head himself, and he’s bringing the Lion Battalion of his palace guard with him.”

“No overkill then?” Rafer observed with a wry smile.

“Those Lion guys are bad motherfuckers,” Faith observed.

“I really don’t think we should let their sexual habits concern us, Miss Lehane,” Faulkner commented dryly.

“You have some information about these fellows?” Rafer asked.

“Yeah, after a Marine recon platoon walked all over the palace guard and snatched the Pasha from under their noses,” Faith explained, “They’ve received intensive training from Chinese special forces. Not only are these guys well trained and equipped they’ve also got something to prove.”

“Ah!” Faulkner nodded his head in agreement, “I see, so, Miss Lehane, you’d recommend that we don’t let these Lion chaps catch up with us?”

“Got it in one, Sir,” Faith agreed.

“Well we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Sandy?” Faulkner looked up at RSM Young, “We’ll stop training now, make sure the men have a hot meal and write out their wills.” Next Faulkner turned to Faith, “Chief you’re in charge of issuing weapons and ammunition, I don’t see why we should leave anything behind for the umBongans so issue everything you can. The rest of you,” Faulkner lifted his gaze to take in his officers, “I want you to do a final kit check of the men’s equipment…”

“Rations Sir?” Rafer asked.

“Yes good idea,” agreed Faulkner, “issue everyone with a twenty-four hour ration pack. Hopefully we won’t need it and we’ll be sitting in a bar tomorrow night swapping war stories but you never know.” Faulkner paused for a moment before adding, “Unless there’s something I’ve forgotten we’ll move out to the airfield at midnight, before then I hope you’ll all have time to join me for a quick glass of Scotch before we leave…any thing else? Rafer?”

“Not at the moment Allen,” Rafer replied.

“Then we better get on,” Faulkner said quietly.

“Sir!” Everyone braced to attention before turning and going about their business.

0=0=0=0

**The Offices of Nabisco Industries, London.**

Just as Colonel Faulkner was giving his instructions to his officers in umBonga; in London a black, shiny, chauffeur driven limo pulled up outside Nabisco Industries central London offices. Appearing from the front door Thomas Belfour (Simon Neidermyer’s assistant) walked over to the car to welcome the three Arabic looking gentlemen as they climbed from the vehicle. After warmly shaking each man’s hand Belfour led the men into the building and then up to Mr Neidermyer’s office.

0=0=0=0

**Faith and Cordy’s room, Northern umBonga.**

“You okay?” Faith asked as she checked her gear one last time.

“I’m okay,” Cordy’s eyes made a liar of her mouth, “it’s just this parachute jump…why couldn’t we go in by chopper?”

“Too noisy, too expensive?” Faith shrugged, “Anyway you’ll be fine.”

Faith had given Cordy intensive instruction in how to perform a parachute jump, but there’d not been time for her to perform any actual practice jumps.

“Look,” Faith grinned, “if the worse comes to the worse I’ll push ya outta the plane. The altimeter will open ya chute automatically at one-thousand feet…if it doesn’t,” Faith chuckled, “come and see me after.”

“Bitch,” Cordy muttered as she thumbed the last couple of rounds into one of her magazines.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in the corner of the room, Faith checked herself out; she was wearing old US Army desert, ‘chocolate chip’, camouflage. Even older British ’58 webbing gear and she’d be carrying a 7.62mm AK 47. Although all the equipment was of an old type none of it appeared to have been issued before, it must have all come from surplus stocks somewhere. Jumping up and down half a dozen times, Faith checked that nothing made too much noise. Satisfied she turned away from the mirror and took off her equipment harness before slumping down on her bed.

“You made out your will?” Cordy asked suddenly.

“Yeah,” Faith nodded as she checked over her AK one last time, “everything goes to Mom and Dad, you?”

“Me?” Cordy had a not inconsiderable fortune to leave behind if anything went wrong, “I left it all to Uncle Tom, he’ll make sure my mother doesn’t see one red cent of it and he’ll do something useful with it.”

“You really hate your mom don’t you?” Faith asked as she put her rifle to one side; she, on the other hand loved her parents now she’d found them again, it was nice to have family...it was a pity that Willow wouldn't now be part of that family.

“What do you expect me to say Faith?” Cordy asked, “She never once looked for me when I left home and she despises everything I’ve done and everything I believe in.”

“Hey,” Faith laughed, “if ya want I can make sure she has a close encounter with a vamp one dark night.”

“No,” Cordy shook her head slowly, “nice of you to offer but I don’t think you should.”

“No trouble,” Faith glanced at her watch, it was nearly time to go.

“Look Faith I know what you’re trying to do,” Cordy pushed herself to her feet and started to put on her gear, “you’re trying to get my mind off jumping out of a perfectly good airplane so angry men can shoot at me.”

“Is it working?” Faith asked hopefully.

“Sort of,” Cordy buckled up her web harness as Faith checked her hair was secure before putting on her beret; Cordy looked at her own watch and sighed, “Come on, we better go.”

“On it, L-t,” Faith picked up her gear and rifle before following Cordy out of the door into the corridor.

As they walked along the corridor, Cordy reflected on the phrase that Faith had just used; ‘on it, L-t’. It was like a switch, those three words had turned them from ‘girl friends’ into comrades in arms. Cordelia Chase was once again a Marine Officer, and Faith Tasker-Lehane was once more the rough, tough Ranger, Warrant Officer. Walking out into the night they saw the rest of the mercenary force standing in little groups on the parade ground, she heard the trucks that would take them to the airfield approaching in the distance.

“Luck, L-t,” Faith said softly as they neared the troops.

“Luck, Chief,” Cordy replied, before adding to herself, “here we go again.”

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

5.

**The Bush, somewhere near Zimbarla, Southern Yemalia.**

Struggling out of her parachute harness, Faith glanced up at the sky. The C130 transport that had dropped them was long gone and for a moment she felt just a little as if she’d been deserted. Shaking off these feelings, she concentrated on disentangling herself from her parachute. Once she’d got the harness off she reeled in the chute before hiding it under a nearby thorn bush. Releasing her rifle from where it was strapped to her side, Faith slipped a loaded magazine into the receiver and started to look for Cordy.

The half light of pre-dawn didn’t bother Faith much as she looked around and saw men hiding their chutes and rallying to their team-leaders. Walking determinedly between the hurrying soldiers, Faith eventually found Cordy sitting on her butt under the only tree in the entire neighbourhood, the canopy of her ‘chute was draped over the tree and Cordy herself was slashing at the shrouds with her knife while she muttered foul oaths under her breath.

“You okay?” Faith called softly as she ran over to help Cordy.

“Oh! Just peachy!” Cordy snapped back as she cut through another handful of nylon cords.

“Here let me help,” Faith pulled her knife-like bayonet and got down on her knees next to Cordy.

“No time for playing around, ladies” announced RSM Young; he’d come up behind Faith so quietly that she’d not even noticed having been distracted by Cordy’s muttering.

“On it,” Faith replied as she cut through the last lines and pulled Cordy to her feet, “Are ya injured?”

“Only my pride,” Cordy replied as she hit the quick release on her harness and it fell off her, “how come I managed to hit the only tree in miles, huh?”

“Luck?” Faith grinned, if Cordy was complaining then she was okay, “Come on L-t lets get with our groups.”

“Yeah sure,” Cordy unstrapped her rifle and slammed in a magazine, “good to go!”

Together they trotted over to where the mercenaries were organising themselves into two groups.

“Everybody alright?” Colonel Faulkner asked as the soldiers knelt down in the long dry grass.

“Apart from feeling like I left my boobs on the plane, I’m fine!” Cordy whispered quietly; everyone who heard gave a quiet laugh which helped relieve some of the tension that every one was feeling.

“Apart from Miss Chase’s boobs,” Colonel Faulkner replied dryly, “are we all here?”

“Trooper Lloyd was killed,” RSM Young reported, “his chute didn’t open.”

“Damn-it,” Faulkner sighed, “but it could have been worse…alright let’s get moving we haven’t got all day.”

Silently the mercenaries split into two groups, Faith was with Colonel Faulkner and the group that was going to the barracks while Cordy was with the team heading for the airfield. 

Moving off behind Faulkner, Faith saw that Pieter Coetzee had taken point, the South African had the most experience with the African bush so Faith had no problem with that. Normally on operations Faith took point because of her superior senses, but she hadn’t really worked in this type of terrain before and was happy to let someone else take the lead. The area they’d dropped into was thickly scattered with head high thorn bushes interspersed with the very occasional thorn tree like the one Cordy had nearly collided with. The dusty ground was carpeted with clumps of dry grass that could easily make you turn an ankle if you weren’t careful where you were putting your feet.

Looking around, Faith noticed that visibility was barely fifty yards, which meant someone could get quite close before you’d have a chance to see them. While the bush stopped you from seeing ground targets it wasn’t thick enough to prevent you from being spotted from the air. As she walked, Faith wondered if the Royal Yemali Air Force had improved since she’d last been in the country.

Climbing a slight rise the group went over the crest of a ridge and started to move cautiously down the opposite slope. After only thirty or forty metres the bush ended abruptly and there before them in the early dawn light stood the barracks. The base consisted of one long and several other smaller brick built blocks each with a white painted corrugated iron roof. The entire complex was surrounded by a twelve foot high bared wire fence, it looked just like the plan and the model that they’d studied back in England.

“Miss Lehane?” Faulkner signalled Faith to join him at the font of the little column.

Working her way passed the men who were crouching in the grass alert for anything suspicious, Faith collected her bow and arrows off the man detailed to carry it for her. Taking the bow, Faith knelt beside Faulkner and looked down at the camp.

“What do you think?” Faulkner asked, “Can you make the shot or do we have to think of some other way of getting rid of those sentries?”

Keeping silent Faith tossed some dry grass into the air and watched it float to the ground. Good, she thought, almost no wind. Looking from one guard tower to another she estimated the range. The closest tower was about eighty metres away; the other two were more like a hundred-and-twenty. The towers were open structures, basically a platform with a roof. The three sleepy sentries sat on chairs in the shade of their little roofs, Faith smiled as she stood up to take the bow from its case.

“Easy Colonel,” Faith strung the bow and slipped a brace onto her left wrist, “no problemo.”

Selecting an arrow from the four that one of the soldiers held out to her (she’d not seen the point in bringing more than four arrows) Faith eyed her targets. Deciding to work right to left she notched her first arrow. Lifting the heavy bow she saw the sun glint on the wickedly sharp arrowhead before she drew the string back to her ear. Sighting on her first target she sent the arrow on its way. Before the first shaft had got half way to its target the second arrow was on its way to the closest of the three guards. The first sentry died as the third arrow flew from Faith’s bow.

The first guard died without making a sound, he probably didn’t even notice being killed. The second guard must have woken up just before the arrow slashed through his throat. He made a strange gurgling noise in his throat as he drowned in his own blood. The noise he made was hardly audible but the sound his rifle made as it slipped off his lap and hit the floor of the watch tower was enough to wake the third guard. Startled awake the third guard moved just enough for the arrow to miss him. Distracted by the ‘thing’ that had swished by his head he didn’t call out or notice the figure coming out of the bush towards his post.

Sprinting towards the wire fence, Faith notched her last arrow, drew back the string and loosed her shaft. This time the arrow caught the guard cleanly in the throat, the wide bladed arrowhead slicing through the artery; the blood that pumped into the man’s throat prevented him from calling a warning and he died clawing at the wooden shaft stinking from his neck.

Casting away her bow, Faith turned to see Faulkner lead the rest of the group towards the fence. Trotting over to him, she retrieved her rifle and took up a position to cover the men cutting a hole in the fence. It only seemed like seconds from when she’d shot her first arrow but they were already climbing through the breached barbed wire fence and making their way along the side of what the plan of the camp told them was the prison block.

Coming to the corner of the block Faulkner looked around the corner carefully before jerking his head back into cover; ‘Guard’ he mouthed. Pushing herself forward, Faith lay down on her belly and looked cautiously around the corner, sure enough there was a big African soldier lighting a cigarette as he watched the parade ground in front of the prison block. Drawing her bayonet again, Faith got silently to her feet, walked the few paces over to the guard, reaching up she wrapped her arm around his neck and stabbed him in the back with her bayonet. The guard struggled for a moment or two before he realised he was dead and fighting back was now pointless. Easing the body to the ground, Faith signalled for everybody to come forward.

“And to think I didn’t want you to join up,” Pieter Coetzee whispered with a grin as he passed by Faith, “I admit it I made a mistake, sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Faith whispered back as she cleaned her bayonet on the guard’s jacket, “I thought you were an asshole,” Faith shrugged, “so, we were both wrong.”

Moving on the group split up, one team headed towards the barrack blocks to gas the garrison while Faulkner led his team along the wall to the guard room. Signalling for a man to sneak forward, they waited for the mercenary to work his way along the wall of the building and carefully peep in through the guard room window. The man under the window signalled ‘all clear’ and the rest of Faulkner’s group moved forward.

Setting up either side of the guard room door, Faith and her comrades prepared themselves for a forced entry. It was important that there was no firing until Rafer Janders’ group had gassed the rest of the garrison. A firefight now would totally screw up the operation. Taking position at the door Coetzee looked left and right to check everyone was in position, satisfied he raised his booted foot and kicked open the door.

Yelling in a mixture of Arabic and English for everyone to stand still and put up their hands, half a dozen mercenaries burst into the room. The eight of so Yemalies and Chinese ‘instructors’ in the guard room where taken totally by surprise and gave up without a fight. Confused they slowly lifted their hands above their heads and meekly let the mercenaries take their weapons.

“Keys?” Faulkner demanded; a moment later Coetzee tossed a bunch of keys to the Colonel who passed them on to Faith, “Take Witty,” Witty was the unit’s medic, “and find the Raisuli.”

“On it,” Faith replied as she snatched the keys out of the air; turning she gestured for the medic to follow her.

Moving rapidly along the cellblock, Faith felt the eyes of the other prisoners on her as they crowded around the iron barred gates to their cells and tried to see what was going on. The information given to them by Neidermyer’s spies told Faith that the Raisuli was in a section of more private cells at the far end of the block. Coming to a halt next to a heavy wooden door, Faith reached out and tried the door handle. Sighing with relief when the handle moved under her hand she signalled Witty to stay close behind her.

Pushing her AK onto her back, Faith pulled the .45 automatic pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh and checked that it was loaded. Satisfied, she nodded to Witty and quietly as she could opened the door. Once the door was open a couple of inches, Faith started to move fast. Shouldering the door wide open she burst into the short corridor that led to the only occupied cell in this part of the block. In an instant she saw one guard standing in the corridor just outside the cell bars, another guard was in the cell with the prisoner.

The guard in the cell was the more alert of the two, he raised the pistol in his hand and fired at the Raisuli. The bullet buried itself in the wall as the Raisuli ducked down onto the floor. Aiming her own pistol, Faith fired, the big slug entered the guard’s forehead and blew out the back of his head before he had a chance to fire again. Shifting her aim a little she put another round into the head of the second guard before he’d even begun to bring his rifle to bear on the two intruders.

“How’s your chess game, ya old goat?” Faith asked as she moved to unlock the cell.

“Allah be praised,” the Raisuli smiled up at Faith from the cell floor, “is that you Miss Lehane?”

“Sure is,” Faith got the cell door open and let Witty through to fuss over the prisoner.

“I always said you were a great deal of trouble, Miss Lehane,” the Raisuli sat up as Witty checked him out, “have you come to rescue me or kill me?”

“What do you think, old man,” Faith replied with a grin.

The last time she’d seen the Raisuli he had been an old but still vital man, full of fire and the determination to see his brother laid low. Now, although there was still something of the old sparkle in his eye, the Raisuli was a mere shadow of his former self. He was pale and thin his clothes hanging loosely from his body. When he reached out to take Witty’s hand as the medic helped him to his feet, Faith noticed that the old brigand’s hand was trembling.

“Don’t look like that Miss Lehane,” the Raisuli’s laugh soon turned into a wet cough, after a moment he stopped coughing and spoke again, “I’m not dead yet…I knew it couldn’t be the Will of Allah that I should die here…and here you are to rescue me, a heavily armed angel sent by Allah!”

“Yeah right,” Faith couldn’t help but smile, the old guy hadn’t really changed, “come on we’ve gotta get you outta here.” Faith put her shoulder under his and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and warned him, “Don’t you get any ideas, old man.”

“Allah moves in wondrous ways his miracles to perform,” intoned the Raisuli as they moved towards the cell door. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Faith replied, “ya know Lt Chase is here too?”

“Allah heaps wonder upon wonder on me,” the Raisuli smiled, “she is well?”

“Last I saw,” Faith handed over the Raisuli to two soldiers who helped him over to the trucks the force had captured.

“How is he?” Faith wanted to know.

“He’s not a well man,” Witty replied sadly, “he was shot and he’s been tortured plus he seems to have developed some sort of chest infection, I can’t be sure until I can check him over properly, he should really be in a hospital.”

“But will he make it to the airfield?” Colonel Faulkner asked as he strode over to join them.

“I think I can keep him alive until we get him to hospital in umBonga,” Witty reassured the Colonel.

“Good,” Faulkner nodded, “Witty you keep an eye on him,” he turned to Faith and shook her hand, “and good work, well done Miss Lehane. Now would you mind telling me why the CIA, or whoever, sent you on this mission?”

“What?” Faith gasped, “How…?”

“Oh come on Miss Lehane didn’t you think I’d check,” Faulkner laughed, “and what were the chances of two women who just happened to have been to Yemalia and who knew the Raisuli presenting themselves to be recruited?”

“Yeah,” Faith agreed with a resigned shrug, “our story was pretty thin.”

“So what were your orders?” Faulkner gestured for Faith to follow him over to a waiting Gaz jeep.

“The American Government would prefer the Raisuli in charge of Yemalia,” Faith explained, “the L-t and me were told to make sure you guys got him out in one piece.”

“I see,” Faulkner nodded, “nothing dramatic then?”

“No Sir,” Faith shook her head, “no heroics and nothin’ dramatic…so what ya gonna do with us now?”

“As long as you continue to obey my orders, nothing,” Faulkner explained, “our missions don’t clash, I’d rather the Raisuli was in charge so for once the CIA and myself see eye to eye!”

0=0=0=0


	6. Chapter 6

6.

**Zimbarla Airport, Southern Yemalia.**

Lying in the long, dry, straw-like grass, Cordelia and Shaun Fynn watched the airport buildings through their binoculars. There were three concrete buildings making up the actual airport. There was a control tower; a large two story building. The ground floor probably contained admin offices for the actual running of the airport, while the first floor was the smaller air traffic control tower with its all round windows and roof mounted radio masts.

About fifty yards east of the control tower was the ‘Airport Terminal Building’. This was a single story building housing immigration control, a security office and a restaurant. The third building, next to the terminal, was a large maintenance hanger which at the moment held a single engined aircraft that was in for repair. Around the three buildings were several wooden shacks. All this was what Cordy and Shaun had expected to see, what they hadn’t expected to see were the fifty or sixty soldiers guarding the buildings.

“Now I wonder where they came from,” Shaun asked quietly as he lowered his glasses.

“Didn’t the Colonel say something about that Pasha guy totally bringing some of his guys with him?” Cordelia remembered.

“Of course you’re right,” Shaun glanced over at Cordy, “this must be the advanced party of this Lion Battalion of his, damn-it!”

“Well, Shaun,” Cordy lowered her own binoculars and rolled onto her side so she could look at her fellow officer, “whoever they are we’re going to have to take them on, the Colonel,” Cordy checked her watch, “will be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Right!” Fynn raised his binoculars to his eyes once more as he studied the airport buildings again. “Look, they don’t appear to be too alert at the moment…”

“I doubt they even suspect we’re here,” Cordy pointed out as she too went back to watching the airport.

“Then we’ll use that to our advantage,” Shaun said slowly before looking round at Cordy, “We’ll take them in a rush. There’s only eight or ten of them actually on guard everyone else seems to be in or around the terminal.”

“You do remember I’m a glorified helicopter pilot, don’t you?” Cordy told Fynn uncertainly.

“And I have every confidence in you and the training the US Marines gave you,” Shaun smiled, “every Marine a rifleman and all that bollocks.”

“Yeah right,” Cordy swallowed the big lump in her throat.

“Oh this’ll be easy,” Shaun reassured her, “I’ll take Number One and Two sections and take out the troops at the terminal. You take number Three section and swing round to the right there,” Shaun pointed to a clump of bushes and trees to the right-rear, “You attack the control tower when everyone’s concentrating on me. Once you’ve secured the tower you can fire into the terminal from the flank and take out anyone trying to escape out the back, okay?”

“On it,” Cordy nodded.

“Oh and Cordelia,” Shaun put his hand on her arm, “we can’t let anybody escape to warn the Pasha’s troops, alright?”

“Got it,” Cordy nodded.

“Right then,” Shaun sighed, “I suppose we better get started.”

0=0=0=0

“Sergeant McTaggart?” Cordy asked as she ran over to where Third Section was waiting in the long grass.

“Just ‘Jock’ will do Ma’am,” Jock McTaggart replied with a grin.

“Cool,” Cordy nodded, “our job is to take the control tower, Jock…”

“Aye, I thought as much,” agreed the veteran sergeant, “Mr Fynn’ll be wanting us to go ‘round to the right there and take the terminal in the flank after we’ve secured the control tower.”

“Erm yeah,” Cordy eyed the Scots NCO and wondered if he was telepathic, “look, I’ll take half the squad…”

“Section, Ma’am,” Jock corrected Cordy gently.

“Whatever,” Cordy shrugged, “any-who, I’ll take half the guys, take out the flight control place then clear out the offices. You take the other half and support Mr Fynn’s attack…” Cordy eyed her NCO and asked, “…suggestions?”

“That sounds fine te me, Ma’am,” Jock agreed, “you better take Chalky White’s fire team they’re more experienced at building clearance.”

“Whatever you say, Jock,” Cordy agreed, “lets get moving, huh?”

“Right behind you, Ma’am,” Jock McTaggart started to stand up as he called his section forward.

0=0=0=0

Hiding at the edge of the area of vegetation behind the control tower, Cordy studied the enemy’s positions through her binoculars. There were two or three rough wooden shacks and a guard post with three Yemali soldiers standing around and talking to each other. They weren’t taking very much interest in what was going on around the airport and Cordy once again suspected that they had no idea they were in any danger, but that would soon change.

“Jock,” Cordy hissed, “we’ll need to take those three guys out as soon as the firing starts.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Jock whispered back as he got down into a firing position, “they’ll be nee trouble, y’ken.”

Almost as the last words left Jock’s mouth a burst of firing came from the direction of the terminal building. The shots were quickly followed by the sound of grenades going off and even more firing.

“Take ‘em!” Cordy cried.

Three shots rang out as Jock and two of his troopers fired. The three guards went down as they turned to see what was going on behind them.

“GO! GO! GO!” Cordy yelled as she climbed to her feet and started to run towards the control tower as the distinctive bark of AK 47’s rang in her ears.

Quickly reaching the guard post, Cordy saw that one of the guards wasn’t quite dead yet, in fact he was trying to raise his rifle to fire on Cordy and her men. Firing a short burst, Cordy riddled the man’s body with bullets, he slumped down on the blood soaked ground no longer a threat. Pointing to her right, Cordy signalled Jock’s team to take up position and support Shaun’s assault on the terminal.

Rushing towards the control tower, Cordelia headed for the iron steps that would lead her up to the air traffic control tower itself. Her feet ringing on the metal steps, she raised her head just in time to see a Chinese officer standing at the top of the stairs. For just a second Cordy and the Chinese officer looked at each other in surprise. The spell was broken as the officer went for the pistol in the holster on his belt. Shifting her rifle around a little Cordy fired another short bust and saw three dark red blotches blossom across the man’s chest. The force of the bullets knocked the officer off his feet and over the safety rail that ran around the roof of the control tower. Gaining the top of the stairs, Cordy saw another Chinese soldier just coming out of the flight control office rifle in hand. Before she could move, a burst of fire from behind her took the man in the chest and stomach and he fell to the floor his rifle clattering down beside him.

“Don’t damage the tower!” Cordy called as the four soldiers with her pushed by her and headed for the doorway where the dead Chinese soldier lay. They were prevented from entering the office by two men, one white and the other a native Yemali, who came out into the open with their hands in the air. It did them no good because they were shot down as soon as they stepped out onto the roof.

Running over to the air traffic control office, Cordy paused to check how Sergeant McTaggart was getting on. From her vantage point she could see Jock’s team firing into the side of the terminal and cutting down any Yemalies who tried to escape out of the back of the terminal. By the way the Yemalies were trying to flee and from the smoke and flames issuing from several of the terminal’s windows, Cordy guessed that Shaun’s assault must be going to plan.

Following her own men into the building, Cordy checked that none of the radios or radar screens had been damaged. As she was doing this Chalky White tossed a grenade down the stairs to the floor below; there was a loud *BANG!* followed by some screams as a small cloud of grey smoke billowed up from the stairway. Leaving one man with Cordy, Chalky White led the rest of his team down into the ground floor. Realising that White knew what he was doing, Cordy let him get on with it. Ignoring the explosions, gunfire and screams coming from below, Cordy checked the radio and started to retune it to the frequency being used by the transport plane that would be picking them up.

Smiling as she twisted the tuning knobs, Cordy recognised the radio as the same type she’d used to call for help when Faith and herself had been trapped in Neda, north of Mogador the Yemali capital. The radio was an old Chinese copy of an even older Russian set. Everything worked backwards and all the lettering was in Chinese pictograms with labels written in Arabic script stuck over them. This didn’t bother Cordy, she’d managed to contact the White House with a similar set so contacting an aircraft that was probably only a hundred miles away wouldn’t be a problem.

“Miss Chase!”

Cordy turned to see Chalky White’s head appear from the stairway.

“Building’s secured, no casualties.”

“Cool,” Cordy nodded, “well done,” she paused to gauge the amount of firing coming from outside, it seemed to have almost faded away to nothing, “Erm, you better take up defensive positions, you never know someone might counter-attack.”

“Right you are, Ma’am,” Chalky disappeared below once more leaving Cordy and her guard alone.

0=0=0=0

**The London Offices of Nabisco Industries at about the same time.**

Smiling, Simon Neidermyer congratulated himself on a job well done. The Pasha’s representatives had driven a hard bargain and the negotiations had dragged on late into the night and on into the morning. But at the end of it he had a new contract with cast iron guarantees from the Pasha that he wouldn’t go back on the deal he’d made for the extraction of all the natural resources in Yemalia; Neidermyer had what he’d always wanted, a monopoly to mine anything in that pitiful dust-bowl of a country. On the other hand the Pasha’s Swiss bank accounts would swell and swell until such time as he decided to leave his poverty stricken country and its people to descend into chaos once more.

“Excellent,” Neidermyer smiled before turning to the ‘Man from the Ministry’ and nodded.

The ‘Man from the Ministry’ had been worth every cent he’d paid to put the official in his pocket. The mercenaries he’d hired to snatch the Raisuli on the other hand had been nothing but an annoyance. They’d never been vital to his plan they were simply insurance in case the Pasha didn’t see sense. Now that they’d come to this mutually beneficial agreement the annoying Colonel and his bloodthirsty crew could be hung out to dry. Plus it had been part of the agreement with the Pasha for Neidermyer to tell the Pasha where Faulkner and his men where. Very soon that little detail would no longer be a problem. Lifting up the phone the Man from the Ministry dialled a number for his department in Whitehall, he waited for a moment for the phone to be answered and for him to be put through to the appropriate section.

“This is Rushton,” the Man from the Ministry spoke into the phone, “put ‘Charlie One’ into effect immediately,” he paused as someone at the other end of the line said something, “That’s right _immediately_ what’s so odd about that?” Again he paused, “Well, route it through any embassies you need to, that’s your job, now get on with it.” Putting down the phone Rushton turned to Neidermyer with a slight smile on his bearded face. “It might be a little bit tight but we’ll make it,” he reassured his paymaster.

0=0=0=0

**Zimbarla Airport, Southern Yemalia.**

Following Colonel Faulkner up into the control tower, Faith saw Cordelia working at the radio while Shaun Fynn swept the skies with his binoculars looking for the aircraft that would be taking them home. Downstairs, RSM Young was having the fires, caused by the assault, put out while other men put the airport into a state of defence, just in case the Pasha’s men returned and tried to prevent them from leaving.

“Ironman, Ironman, Wild Goose, Wild Goose, do you read me?” Cordelia looked up as Faith, Colonel Faulkner and Rafer Janders joined her in the control tower, “who the freakin’ hell thought up these call signs, makes it sound like a finger up the Tin Man’s ass!”

“Well done Shaun, Cordelia,” Faulkner smiled as he walked in, “any luck?” he asked Cordy.

“I don’t know?” Cordy shrugged her shoulders, “this is a Chinese copy of a Russian set from the stone age, the signal could be going nowhere or I might be able to put you onto the President.” Cordy started to call again, “Ironman, Ironman…”

“Wild Goose this is Ironman reading you five by five,” came a crackly voice over the radio’s loudspeaker.

“Thank Christ for that,” Cordy sighed with relief before answering, “Ironman goose yourself in here we’re waiting.”

“And we’re only twelve minutes behind schedule,” Rafer pointed out.

“Feel good?” Faulkner asked his old friend.

“I will be if we actually manage to get the Raisuli out of here without killing him,” Rafer pointed out.

Just then the drone of the aircraft’s engines came to everyone’s ears.

“Ironman, Ironman we hear your engines,” Cordy said into the microphone, “sounds like you’re south-east of us…”

“There it is!” Faith pointed out of the window her sharp, ‘super soldier’ eyes spotting the aircraft several seconds before anyone else.

Moments later the C-130 transport was clear for everyone to see as it lined itself up on the runway and began its final approach.

“Right on the button,” Shaun Fynn observed as the aircraft touched down on the runway in front of them.

Below the control tower men climbed out of their hastily dug positions and cheered the aircraft as it zoomed by. It was just about at this point Faith noticed that something was wrong and a large lead weight suddenly appeared in her stomach.

“Hey,” she said quietly all the time watching the aircraft as it started to pick up speed again, “why isn’t he slowing down?”

“My god, Chief,” Faulkner gasped, “your right,” he looked down at Cordy, “Cordelia ask them what they’re playing at.”

By now it was obvious to everyone that the aircraft wasn’t going to stop.

“Ironman, Ironman!” Cordy called desperately into the microphone, “What’s going on?”

The aircraft increased speed and lifted off from the far end of the runway.

“Ironman,” Cordy snapped into the microphone, “get you’re ass back here or we’ll shoot you down!”

“What with?” Faith asked quietly, “We’ve got no SAMs.”

“Yeah well he doesn’t know that,” Cordy replied; but it made no difference the transport just gained altitude and flew off into the blue morning sky.

“Sorry, orders,” came a voice over the loud speaker, “good luck to you.”

“Crap!” Faith said quietly as she watched the aircraft disappear into the distance.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Chief,” Colonel Faulkner replied before adding calmly, “Anyone else get the feeling we’ve been left high and dry?”

0=0=0=0


	7. Chapter 7

7.

**Zimbarla Airport, Southern Yemalia.**

“Orders?” Shaun Fynn asked, “What does he mean ‘orders’? We’re stuffed!”

“I’ll go talk to the men,” Faulkner turned away from his officers, opened the door and went outside.

Walking out over to the edge of the control tower roof he rested his hands on the guard rail and looked down into the worried faces of his men.

“Men!” Faulkner called loudly enough for all to hear him, “We have been betrayed, but we will plan our way out of here. RSM Young,” Faulkner singled out the man in question, “get the men back into their defensive positions.” Turning away from his men he saw Faith standing by the open control tower door.

“Chief,” Faulkner walked over to where Faith stood so he didn’t have to shout, “I want you to collect all the spare ammunition, weapons and transport you can find.”

“On it, Colonel,” Faith was just about to turn away when Faulkner called her back.

“Miss Lehane,” he said softly, “we _will_ get out of this.”

“Never doubted it Colonel,” Faith grinned before heading off across the roof and down the stairs.

0=0=0=0

Getting to the bottom of the stairs Faith looked around until she saw RSM Young organising the men, she trotted over to him.

“RSM,” Faith called, “the Colonel wants me to collect up all the spare weapons an’ ammo I can, plus we need transport.”

“Right!” RSM Young looked around for some helpers for Faith, “Oi! You three lazy looking bastards, go with Chief Lehane,” turning again RSM Young called a man over, “Corporal Newman, take your section and find all the motor transport you can…” Newman didn’t move, “…MOVE Y’SELF!” RSM Young yelled and got the man moving.

“Come on guys,” Faith said in a lot quieter voice as she led her three men towards the terminal building, “we need guns and ammo.”

Faith silently thanked Colonel Faulkner for having everyone issued with AK 47’s the same rifles as used by the Yemali Army.

“Should be plenty in the terminal building,” observed one of her helpers, “what are we looking for, Chief?”

“Oh ya know usual gear,” Faith arrived at what remained of the terminal buildings main door, “but I want any LMG’s and RPG’s,” she turned and grinned hopefully at her helpers, “some shoulder launched SAM’s would be cool too.”

Nodding in understanding her men started to move amongst the corpses of the Yemali solders stripping them of their spare magazines, grenades and anything else that might prove useful.

Picking her way between the corpses, Faith busied herself with looking for the more interesting equipment they might need. The mercenary force had only brought their AK 47’s and pistols for the officers and senior NCO’s. As they’d only expected to be on the ground for a few hours it hadn’t been thought necessary to bring heavier weapons like Light Machine Guns and Rocket Propelled Grenades. Now it looked as if they were going to have to fight a rear guard action all the way back to the border with umBonga; they were going to need everything they could find.

Stepping over a couple of dead bodies, Faith found herself looking into an office. Not seeing anything very useful she was just turning around to leave when she noticed something leaning up against the wall behind the door. Pulling the door out of the way she picked up the long green painted tube and examined the firing and control mechanism for the weapon.

“Cool,” Faith smiled evilly as she turned the weapon over in her hands.

0=0=0=0

“I thought we had this in the bag,” Faulkner sighed as he sat down in the air traffic control office, “there’s a man called Neidermyer who has a lot to answer for.”

“Neidermyer?” Shaun asked, “The American business tycoon?”

“Yes,” Faulkner replied bitterly, “he’s the _money_ , I’m guessing he made a new deal with the Pasha.”

“While dropping us in the soft and smelly in the process,” Shaun pointed out.

“Look,” Cordy spoke up from her seat behind the radio, “while I don’t want to rush anyone but there’s a lot of chatter on the radio. I guessing the Pasha and the rest of his guys will be here soon.”

“Couldn’t we ambush them as they land?” Shaun asked wanting to hit back at something.

“What if they’re in choppers?” Cordy pointed out, “We shoot at them here and they could land anywhere.”

“Yes,” Faulkner looked at Cordy and nodded, “Cordelia’s right, we need to get away from here,” he turned his eyes towards Rafer Janders, “Rafer?”

“Allen I wouldn’t mind meeting this Neidermyer _gentleman_ one day,” Rafer said with a murderous glint in his eye.

“I promise you one day you will,” Faulkner replied, “now how do we get out of here?”

“Where do we go?” Shaun wanted to know, “Within the hour we’re going to have the entire Yemali army on our backs…”

“What do you suggest we do,” Faulkner replied calmly, “surrender?”

“Hey guys,” Cordy called, “much rather fight to the death than get captured and raped, better still running away sounds good, we can do that right?” Cordy looked at Rafer hopefully.

“Look,” Rafer started to speak, “protecting Miss Chase’s honour aside, I’m all for giving Neidermyer a right, royal screwing. We came to get the Raisuli; well we’ve got him why don’t we use him?”

“How?” Faulkner asked unsure of his friend’s thinking.

“Why don’t we show him to his tribesmen,” Rafer explained, “they’ll think he’s been re-incarnated and we can start another Jihad against the Pasha, who knows we might win!”

“No Rafer,” Faulkner replied sharply, “I’ve got fifty good men…”

“And women,” Cordy reminded him.

“…and I’m not getting them mixed up in any of your crusades,” Faulkner continued.

“So where do we go?” Rafer wanted to now, “We can’t go north, that’s heading deeper into the areas controlled by the Pasha and his Chinese friends.” Rafer paused for a moment but was soon speaking again, “If we go east, its a hundred miles to the sea, are you willing to gamble we’ll find a boat to get us out of here?”

“Clocks ticking guys,” Cordy called, the chatter she was hearing over the radio was getting louder as the Pasha’s forces got closer.

“If we go west,” Rafer continued as if Cordy hadn’t spoken, “we’ll have to cross two hundred miles of semi-desert before we have to cut our way through three hundred miles of jungle!”

“What if we go south back to umBonga?” Shaun asked reasonably, “That’s not even two hundred miles and the terrain isn’t that bad; mostly flat, no desert or jungle…”

“And with the entire Yemali army breathing down our necks!” Rafer pointed out earnestly.

“GENTLEMAN!” Faulkner barked preventing the ‘discussion’ from turning into a pointless argument, “I think Shaun’s right, we go south and we want to leave soon, Rafer pick us a route to the border.”

“Glory hallelujah!” Cordy breathed quietly.

“The umBongans will never let us back into their country,” Rafer pointed out, but before Faulkner could say anything he pointed to his map, “unless we cross further up the border, here…” Rafer gestured for Faulkner to look at the map, “if we can head off west, there’s a bridge over a dried up river. Cross that and blow it up behind us and the Yemalies will either have to follow on foot or make a huge detour. By the time they get back on our trail we’ll be half way to the border!”

“Unless they have choppers,” Cordy couldn’t help but point out, as a chopper pilot herself she couldn’t help but think about the ‘third flank’ that airmobile operations gave commanders.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Colonel Faulkner replied, before leading his officers out onto the control tower roof.

As she left the office, Cordy lifted her assault rifle and sprayed the radios and radar scopes with bullets, no one would be using Zimbarla as a proper airport until they’d replaced the equipment. Of course it wouldn’t stop the military but every little helped.

0=0=0=0

Grinning to herself, Faith supervised the loading of the transport they’d found with the captured weapons and ammunition. They’d found three jeeps and two tucks in working order, this would provide more than enough transport for the entire force. They’d also managed to salvage three RPG’s with four rockets each, plus four Soviet made light machine guns. More disappointingly Faith had only found two Chinese made shoulder launched SAMs, but they’d manage, the last she’d heard was that the Royal Yemali Air Force only had six aircraft, none of which could actually fly. 

By stripping the dead and searching all the buildings they’d found enough ammo and grenades to see the force through maybe three or four firefights. Faith frowned, you never had enough ammo, you always used it up faster than you expected. A man with a machine gun could fire off a thousand rounds in minutes. They would have to be careful, Faith told herself and hopefully they’d be able to pick up some more along the way.

“MISS LEHANE!” Faith turned at the sound of Colonel Faulkner’s voice; she saw Faulkner and Cordy standing twenty or so yards away, she trotted over to join them.

“Good work on finding the transport and equipment,” Faulkner said as Faith came to a halt in front of him, “Now I’ve got a little job for you ladies.”

“You have?” Faith and Cordy chorused suspiciously.

“I have indeed,” Faulkner grinned, “I’m giving you Witty, a driver and one of the jeeps; it’s your job to make sure that the Raisuli gets out of this alive.”

“It is?” Cordy asked uncertainly.

“Yes Miss Chase it is,” Faulkner explained, “if we can get the Raisuli out of the country and in front of the world’s TV cameras we can embarrass the hell out of the Pasha, the Chinese and most importantly Neidermyer.”

“No pressure then?” Cordy asked.

“I’m also hoping,” Faulkner continued in a quieter tone of voice, “that your connections with the CIA might prove useful.”

“Hey, Colonel,” Faith felt she better clarify the situation with the CIA, “the guys at Langley are really only interested in getting the Chinese out of Yemalia.”

“And what better way than to put the Raisuli in front of the world’s media,” Faulkner laughed, “after all the CIA must be invested in what goes on here, otherwise they wouldn’t have sent you and Miss Chase now would they?”

“Put like that, Sir,” Faith replied slowly, “I don’t think you’re wrong.”

“Good,” Faulkner smiled, “now we’ve got that settled I’ll leave you to get on with your work and…thank-you ladies.”

“What for?” Cordy asked.

“Oh,” Faulkner shrugged as he turned away, “you know…everything.”

0=0=0=0

“Ya know, Cordy,” Faith said quietly as she watched the Colonel go and rejoin his men, “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Cordy agreed as she clutched hold of her rifle more tightly, “let’s try not to get anymore medals, huh? Particularly those purple ones.”

“Hey, L-t,” Faith laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, “we ain’t in the Army or even the Marines, there’ll be no medals for this gig. Come on we better get the old goat loaded up and ready to go.”

0=0=0=0

“How ya doin’ man?” Faith asked as she and Cordy walked over to where Raisuli sat in the shade of the control tower.

“Ah! Miss Chase, Miss Lehane, how nice to see you both again,” Raisuli laughed but his laugh soon turned into a wet cough, “and how nice it is to be out of that cold, damp cell.”

Cordy glanced over to Witty, the unit’s medical orderly and raised a questioning eyebrow at the man. Shrugging his shoulders, Witty gave Cordy a ‘you’re guess is as good as mine’ look.

“My brother has a lot to learn about the rules of hospitality,” Raisuli explained.

“Ya not wrong,” Faith agreed.

“Look, Colonel Faulkner has told us to look after you,” Cordy explained; now Raisuli was out in the daylight she could see how pale, thin and generally ill he looked; he was a mere shadow of the man she’d known.

“This Colonel Faulkner must be a very generous man,” Raisuli observed.

“How so?” Cordy wanted to know.

“Well I’ve hardly met him and he’s supplied me with my very own harem!” just for a moment the Raisuli’s eyes sparkled and his old infectious grin returned, but very soon he started to cough again, “Not that I think I’ll be able to take advantage of his gift just now.”

“Come on ya old goat,” Faith stepped forward and helped the old brigand to his feet, “we’ve got you your very own transport too.”

With Witty holding the Raisuli up on one side and Faith on the other they helped him over to where the Chinese made field car waited.

“I hope none of my warriors see me like this,” Raisuli spoke as he hung between the two soldiers, “I’d never live it down, helped by a woman and a sodomite,” Raisuli turned to Witty and added, “no offence meant.”

“None taken I’m sure,” Witty replied.

Their driver, who insisted on being called ‘Parker’, although Faith was fairly sure that wasn’t his name, ran over and took Raisuli off Faith’s hands. Watching as Witty and ‘Parker’ got the old Arab into the back of the jeep, Faith and Cordy spoke quietly for a moment.

“He’s not going to last is he?” Cordy asked.

“Doubt it,” Faith observed; the Raisuli might have held her captive but he was an honourable men and she’d liked him, “If the lack of medical attention don’t get him the dust and the heat will. I mean Witty’s good but he’s not a modern hospital, y'know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Cordy nodded her head sadly; like Faith she had an awful lot to thank the Raisuli for, her life for one, “but we’ll try, okay?”

“Sure thing, L-t,” Faith grinned; she looked around to see that the small column was about to move off, “Come on lets mount up.”

Trotting over to the jeep the two women climbed aboard, Cordy in the back were she could use the QW-1 shoulder launched SAMs, and Faith in the front passenger seat behind the RPD light machine gun that they’d fixed up on the front of the jeep.

“Okay Parker,” Cordy called as the driver started the engine, “the Colonel wants us behind the second truck, okay?”

“Yes m’lady,” Parker revved the engine so as to drown out whatever Cordy might say next, before driving off to slip in behind the two trucks.

“Okay,” Faith smirked at ‘Parker’, “let’s roll.”

0=0=0=0


	8. Chapter 8

8.

**Southern Yemalia.**

The jeep bounced along the dusty road leaving Zimbarla airport far behind. Glancing at her watch Faith saw they were making good time and if their maps were correct they’d be at the bridge over the dried up river in just a few more minutes. Looking into the rear of the jeep, Faith frowned with concern; the Raisuli didn’t look well. At the moment he lay in the bed of the cargo area with a worried Witty sitting next to him checking his pulse. To be honest, Faith didn’t think they’d be able to get the old pirate out of the country; he’d be dead long before they saw the border, but they’d try.

Turning to face her front Faith saw that the trucks ahead of her jeep were slowing down as they entered a sort of cutting that led down a gentle slope. Eventually the convoy ground to a halt and Colonel Faulkner climbed out of the rear jeep and walked towards the front of the convoy to see what the hold up was. Climbing out of the jeep he’d been sharing with the Colonel, Pieter Coetzee ambled over to talk to Cordy and Faith.

“How’s the old boy doin’?” he asked Cordy as he rested his arms against the side of the jeep.

“He doesn’t look good,” Cordy replied in hushed tones.

Leaving Cordy and Pieter to talk, Faith climbed out of the jeep and looked down the line of vehicles to see Faulkner running along the track towards her.

“We’re at the bridge!” he cried as he came level with Faith, “mount up, we’ll cross the bridge then blow it behind us.”

Nodding her agreement, Faith climbed back aboard the jeep and sat down behind her RPD machine gun. The truck ahead of them revved up as the driver searched for a forward gear and pulled off leaving Faith’s jeep in a cloud of blue diesel fumes. Coughing and waving her hand in front of her face, Faith signalled her driver to follow the truck, but not too closely.

They’d only driven another fifty yards when the jeep with Faith in it, burst out into the open. Up until then trees had grown fairly closely on either side of the road, but now they were on the bridge and Faith could see they were in a much greener area of Yemalia than Zimbarla. The trees and bushes on both sides of the dry river bed were a lot more lush looking and thicker than they’d been nearer the airport. The bridge itself was about seventy-five yards long and the lead jeep was already across when the truck ahead of Faith’s jeep made a terrible noise and stopped.

“What the hell?” Faith muttered as the jeep pulled up behind the truck.

Quickly climbing out of her vehicle, Faith walked along the bridge to find out what was wrong.

“What’s goin’ on?” Faith called up to the driver’s cab as she came level with it, the driver was trying to start the engine but nothing much was happening.

“Won’t start,” called the driver, “I think the big ends gone.”

“The big end?” Faith called back; she’d started her career in the army as a driver-mechanic and she’d never heard of anything being called a ‘big end’ before. “Pop the hood, let me see.”

The driver released the hood as Faith climbed up on the truck’s fender and opened the hood the rest of the way. Clouds of steam and smoke greeted her as she lifted the hood and studied the engine.

“Crap,” she cried in despair; the engine was held together with a mass of gaffer tape, wire and string, she was amazed that it had held together this long. “No one’s going anywhere in this truck.”

“What’s up Chief?” looking down Faith saw Colonel Faulkner standing looking up at her.

“Engine’s screwed, Colonel, this heap ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Faith explained as she climbed down.

“Damn-it!” for a moment Faulkner’s mind whirled, “Okay, we’ll have to double up on the other truck after we’ve towed this one across.”

“Okay people,” Faith started to give instructions to the men in the back of the truck, “everyone out!”

With much muttering the mercenaries climbed out of the truck and started to mill about on the road way.

“You!” Faith pointed at a soldier, “Run and tell RSM Young what’s happen and ask him to back up the other truck so we can get this one out of the way.”

“Yes Ma’am!” replied the soldier before he started running towards the head of the column.

“Damn-it!” Colonel Faulkner muttered before looking at Faith and grinning, “Can’t be helped I suppose…”

“SHH!” Faith held up her hand for silence as she listened intently, “CHOPPERS!”

“What?” Faulkner looked at Faith in disbelief, “How could you poss…” Faulkner was stopped from saying anything more by the sound of heavy rotors cutting through the hot, African air, “SHIT!” he cried before starting to shout a warning, “AIR RED! AIR RED!”

Men scrambled to pick up weapons as they searched the sky for threats.

“THERE!” Faith pointed up river; flying low just above the dry river bed like lethal dragonflies flew two Soviet made Hind gunships, “TAKE COVER!” yelling Faith ran for her jeep just as the lead gunship opened fire.

Clouds of dust rose and men screamed as they were chopped to so much offal as the chopper’s 23mm cannon ripped up the road and tore great chunks from the concrete bridge. Finding herself on the ground, Faith watched as the gunships roared over her and start to take a turn to the south. Getting to her feet she sprinted to the jeep to find Witty and the driver trying to get the Raisuli into the ditch at the side of the road while Cordy got a SAM ready for firing.

“You know how that thing works?” Faith asked as she snatched up her RPD.

“Yeah!” Cordy called back as she read the instructions on the side of the missile, “There’s a cartoon,” she pointed, “look!”

“Whatever,” Faith strung the strap of the machine gun over her shoulder; next time the choppers did a pass they wouldn’t have it all their own way. Out on the bridge, men pulled injured comrades to the supposed safety of the far river bank while others prepared their weapons ready to fire when the choppers came back.

“THERE!” Faith yelled; this time the choppers were flying down the line of the road.

Light twinkled from under the chin of the lead chopper; rounds from its rotary cannon ripped up the road and bit into the stalled truck like a buzz-saw cutting through a plank. The men stuck out on the bridge returned fire with light machine guns and their personnel weapons. Standing next to her jeep, Faith fired her RPD from the hip only to see her rounds bounce harmlessly off the gunships underside.

“GOD-DAMN-IT!” Faith cursed as she cast the useless weapon aside.

As the two choppers flew over there was a loud *WHOOSH!* and a great cloud of grey smoke engulfed her as Cordy sent the SAM after the rear chopper. The missile flew straight and true until the chopper started to spew bright, white flares that burnt like miniature suns in the blue sky. The missiles heat seeking tracker picked up one of these white-hot heat sources and veered off course to explode harmlessly well away from the chopper.

“HEY!” Cried Cordy in obvious disappointment, “Did you see that? That’s not fair!”

Looking back across the bridge, Faith saw the stalled truck burning in the middle of the bridge. Most of its passengers had made it to the opposite side of the river, those that hadn’t were already dead.

“RPG!” Faith searched frantically through the gear in the back of the jeep as the choppers described a lazy half circle in the sky and the lined up for another attack.

“Launcher!” ‘Parker’ threw Faith the launcher before picking up a rocket and removed the safety pin and cap from the nose of the warhead.

“LOAD ME!” Faith called desperately as she saw the choppers start their attack run.

After slipping the missile into the launcher, Parker stepped back only to be hit in the chest by a 23mm cannon shell. Cowering away from the explosion of blood, flesh and bone, Faith saw Parker disintegrate in front of her eyes. Standing with the launcher on her shoulder, Faith sort out the lead chopper in her sight as more cannon shells ploughed up the ground around her. Vaguely aware of people firing and screaming as the chopper’s rounds cut them down, Faith found her target, cocked the launcher and fired. 

Not fooled by the chopper’s decoy flares the RPG rocket hit the lead chopper directly in the crew compartment. The Hind reared up like a horse before falling away to the left and crashing into the bush about a hundred yards away. The trailing chopper’s pilot made wild evasive manoeuvres and flew off to the west.

“L-T!” Faith yelled as she dumped the RPG launcher, “YOU OKAY?”

“FINE!” Cordy called back as she climbed out of the roadside ditch. “WITTY, PARKER SOUND OFF!”

“Here!” Witty appeared from the ditch on the other side of the road.

“The Raisuli…?” Faith began, she was vaguely aware of Cordy moving around as she waited for the medic to answer.

“As well as can be expected,” Witty called before disappearing down into the ditch again.

“Coetzee, Parker and the Colonel’s driver are all dead,” Cordy reported, “and I think both jeeps are out of it too.”

“Doesn’t matter we’d never get them passed that,” Faith jerked her thumb over her shoulder to where the second truck blazed in the middle of the bridge, “where’s the Colonel?”

“Haven’t seen…!” Cordy’s words where cut off as what seemed like dozens of explosions ripped the bridge apart.

Hitting the road surface hard, Faith and Cordy watched in impotent anger as the second chopper blew the bridge to concrete dust with a salvo of HE rockets. Having seen his leader shot down the pilot of the second chopper must have flown in a wide circle before flying low along the river bed again. Once he was in range he must have fired off his pods of 57mm rockets at the bridge reducing it to impassable rubble.

“GOD-DAMN-IT!” Faith snapped as she climbed to her feet, snatching her pistol from its holster on her thigh, she sent a few ineffectual shots after the chopper. “Damn-it,” she said more quietly as she put away her pistol and turned her head to look at Cordy, “Y’know L-t,” she sighed, “this mission is turning to real rat-shit!”

“Yeah, like as long as we don’t get crapped on, I’m just happy to be alive,” Cordy called back.

“Ah! Miss Chase, Miss Lehane!” Colonel Faulkner appeared from out of the bushes at the side of the road, he was covered in dust and there was a trickle of blood coming from a long gash on his forehead, “I’m so relieved to find you both alive, the Raisuli?”

“In the ditch with Witty,” Cordy replied just as the medic climbed up onto the road and started to fuss around the Colonel.

“We seem to be in a bit of a pickle,” Faulkner observed as he headed back towards the ruined bridge with Witty trailing after him as he tried to clean up the Colonel’s wound.

“A bit!?” gasped Cordy.

“A pickle!?” Faith added.

Standing on the bank of the dried up river, Colonel Faulkner called out to the men on the opposite bank.

“Rafer! Rafer are you alright?” Faulkner called.

“Fine!” came the reply from the other side of the river, “How about you?”

“I’ll live,” Faulkner replied as he tried to bat away Witty’s hands, “Pieter’s dead as are Simkins and Ring, both the jeeps are U-S as well, looks like we’ll be walking.”

“You’ll have to walk down stream a few miles,” Rafer called back, “cross the river there; we’ll hide up and meet you at Kolema village.”

“Right you are,” Faulkner shouted, “we’ll see you there.”

“Good luck Allen,” Rafer called.

“Good luck Rafer,” Faulkner shouted back before turning away and heading back towards the wrecked vehicles.

“You heard all that?” Faulkner asked as he came back to where Faith and Cordy had taken shelter in the ditch with the Raisuli.

“Yeah,” Cordy climbed back up onto the road, “why can’t we cross here?”

“Quick sand,” Faulkner replied, “we need to go down stream where it’s safe to cross, we better get ready, we’ll need to move fast so take water, weapons and ammunition only. Witty you look after the Raisuli. Miss Chase you look after Witty, I’ll take ‘tail-end-Charlie if you, Miss Lehane, will take point.”

“On it,” Faith and Cordy agreed.

Walking over to the wrecked jeep, Faith picked up the RPD machine gun she’d discarded earlier. Looking from the machine gun to her rifle, Faith started to discard her webbing harness and began to search for something to carry spare drums of ammunition for the RPD. The extra weight of the RPD and all the ammo she’d need wouldn’t bother her, but the extra fire power the machine gun would give them might save there lives. Finding a spare haversack she filled it with as much spare ammo as would fit. Stripping down her webbing she took the spare canteens from Parker and Coetzee and fitted the carriers onto her belt. Taking the canteen from Simkins’ web gear she tossed it to Cordy.

“Ya better strip down that gear to fighting order,” Faith said as she released Cordy’s kidney pouches and helped her attach the spare canteen to her belt, “Got enough mags?”

“Six,” Cordy replied.

“Better take some of Parkers’,” Faith advised, “plus any grenades he might have.”

“We’re going to get out of this aren’t we Faith?” Cordy asked quietly as she fitted more spare magazines into her pouches and grenades into her pockets.

“Yeah sure we are,” Faith grinned.

“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” Cordy finished securing her pockets and pouches, “good to go.”

“Right then,” Colonel Faulkner appeared next to them, “less gossiping, ladies we better be on our way.”

0=0=0=0


	9. Chapter 9

9.

_Fought the Russians, or maybe the French  
Honest I couldn't tell, sir  
All I know is they fought so hard  
They sent us all to hell, sir._

**The Bush near Kolema, Southern Yemalia.**

“Not one step more for him, Sir,” Witty announced as he helped Cordy lower the Raisuli to the ground, “not if you want him to live.”

“What?” Faulkner trotted up from his position at the rear of the little column, “Look we’re only a few minutes away from the river we can rest there.”

“Maybe if we carried him?” Witty didn’t look too convinced.

“Leave me here with a bottle of water and a pistol,” the Raisuli groaned, “I’ll take my chances with my brother’s men.”

“Get real, Raisuli,” Cordy spoke like she was talking to a recruit, “you’re not fooling anyone with this ‘wounded soldier’ act.”

“Look,” the Raisuli said firmly, “it’s obviously not the Will of Allah that I live, go…let me die in peace.”

“No chance!” Faith called as she appeared next to the group.

“AAGH!” Witty and Cordelia cried out in surprise at Faith’s sudden appearance.

“Miss Lehane!?” Faulkner said as he tried not to show how shocked he was that Faith could get so close without him noticing.

“River’s only fifty metres that-a-way,” Faith pointed behind her, “what’s the hold up?”

“The Raisuli isn’t well,” Witty started to explain, “he needed to rest…”

“Too much jerking off, more like,” Faith laughed as she tossed Cordy her RPD machine gun, “here,” Faith bent down and lifted the Raisuli easily into her arms, “let’s get goin’ I’m not carrying ya all day.”

“Well, fuck me!?” Witty gasped quietly as he watched Faith carry the Raisuli towards the river.

“No thanks,” Cordy shrugged as she rested Faith’s machine gun over her shoulder, “you’re soooo not my type.”

“Miss Chase,” Faulkner came to stand next to Cordy, “I think we need to chat.”

“About what?” Cordy asked innocently as they all started to follow Faith towards the river, “Oh, you mean about the Chief’s super strength…to be honest, Colonel you don’t want to know. I suggest you forget about it.”

“You do?” Faulkner eyed Cordy suspiciously, there were a hundred questions in his head, but they could wait until they were somewhere safe, “Yes, well I suppose you’re right…come-on,” he gestured after Faith, “lets catch up with the Chief before she leaves us all completely behind.”

0=0=0=0

Sitting down on the river bank, Cordy kept an eye on the Raisuli as he dozed in the shade of a tree. The Colonel was on the opposite bank scouting, Witty was in the bushes somewhere answering a ‘call of nature’ and Faith; well Faith was playing the scary, super soldier somewhere back down the trail.

“Miss Chase?” the Raisuli opened his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position with his back against the tree.

“Hi,” Cordy flashed one of her brightest smiles trying to cover up how concerned she was about her old jailer, “how’re you feeling?”

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” the Raisuli gave a weak laugh, “my time on this earth is almost up, in a day or two I’ll be in Paradise.”

“Yeah sure,” Cordy tried to sound as if she wasn’t convinced.

“Would you tell a dying man something?” the Raisuli raised an eyebrow.

“If I can,” Cordy went and sat next to the old man.

“Why is it that beautiful women,” the Raisuli grinned, “such as yourself and Miss Lehane, find it necessary to become soldiers?”

“Marine,” Cordy corrected, “in my case.”

“As you might say,” the Raisuli laughed quietly, “‘Whatever’.”

Cordy stayed silent for a moment while she thought about the old man’s question.

“Faith has her own story and if you’re really unlucky maybe she’ll tell it to you one day,” Cordy sighed, “I suppose I joined the Marines because I was hungry and I thought I’d look good in Dress Blues…” Cordy glanced over at the old Arab, “…and I do, I’m ‘smokin’ hot’ in my Blues.”

“You joined your country’s military because you were hungry?” the Raisuli frowned, “Not for honour or out of duty but for food?”

“Yep,” Cordy nodded, “all the honour and duty and helping my fellow ‘man’ stuff came later…I was pretty shallow in those days, I…” Cordy stopped talking and picked up her weapon, “…did you hear that?”

0=0=0=0

A little further up the river bank, Witty sat on an old tree stump, drinking from his canteen. He hoped that the village they were going to had a good well, because he was not going to replenish his water supply from the river. Screwing the top back on his water bottle, Witty froze at the sound of a twig breaking somewhere in the bush behind him. Slowly he eased his water bottle back into it’s pouch before picking up his rifle.

Standing up, he slowly turned around as he brought his rifle up and held it ready in his hands. Out there just where the bush made it too hard to see clearly something moved. Quietly he pulled back the bolt on his AK and selected full automatic fire. Bird calls reached his ears that had never been made by anything wearing feathers. Crouching down a little he peered into the underbrush. His searching eyes were rewarded by the sight of a pair of legs in camouflaged trousers moving stealthily towards him through the bush.

He knew that the Colonel was across the river, Miss Chase and the Arab were down by the river and there was no way that Miss Lehane had legs like that. He brought the butt of his rifle to his shoulder before firing a burst at the legs in the bush. His fire was greeted by a short scream and a longer yell from over to his left. Switching targets, Witty fired into the bushes to his left. Answering fire erupted from the bushes, kneeling down Witty sprayed the undergrowth with fire as bullets cracked around his ears or dug up the ground near him.

“WHAT’S GOING ON!?” Cordelia called as she pushed the Raisuli into cover and readied her weapon.

“IT’S JUST OLD WITTY COVERING YOUR ARSES!” Witty shouted back as he continued to fire bursts into the bush, “NOW GET OUT OF HERE!”

Swapping magazines, Witty was just in time to see three Yemali soldiers appear out of the bush. Before he had time to fire a grenade sailed in from the right, exploded and took down the three Yemalies. Witty fired a long burst into the bush; somewhere a man screamed and fell while others fired as they crawled forward. Attracted by the sound of firing Faulkner ran across the river and joined Cordy at the river back.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Witty’s up there, the Pasha’s guys must have caught up with us,” Cordy explained.

“Where’s Miss Lehane?” Faulkner wanted to know as he got the Raisuli to his feet.

“If I know Faith,” Cordy searched the river bank for some sign of Faith, “she’ll be around…”

“You called?” Faith appeared out of the bush.

“AAAGH!” Cordy screamed as she fumbled with her weapon, “DON’T DO THAT!”

“Whatever,” Faith shrugged, “You guys get the old goat outta here, I’ll rescue Witty and watch ya backs.”

“Good idea, Chief,” Faulkner agreed as he got a firmer hold on the Raisuli, “Miss Chase with me, Miss Lehane, good luck.”

“Don’t need it,” Faith grinned as she pulled back the cocking handle on her RPD.

0=0=0=0

Further up the river, Witty had taken cover behind the river bank as he fired short bursts at the shadows that moved in the bush. Ducking down to change magazines he realised that he’d only got one left. Being loaded down with medical supplies and not being expected to fight he’d only carried three magazines now he was down to his last one.

Firing as the Yemalies tried to rush his position, Witty watched as the big African soldiers fell onto the dusty ground. Standing up to get a better shot he gunned down another couple of men before his weapon ran dry. Cursing under his breath he threw the useless rifle to one side. Seeing the white soldier was now disarmed the Yemalies came out of the bush drawing their machetes as they did so.

“My-my,” Witty watched as the Yemalies approached him menacingly, “what big boys you all are,” Witty drew a long sharp knife from the sheath on his belt, “what a pity we couldn’t have met in a pub in Camden!”

The Yemalies rushed Witty; he grabbed the first man and buried his knife in his chest. All too soon Witty was surrounded and the Yemalies started to hack at him with their machetes. Screaming in pain, Witty fell to the ground just as Faith appeared from down by the river. A long burst from her RPD cut down the Yemalies leaving them in a bloody heap around Witty. Rushing forward while still watching the bush for hostiles, Faith checked the medic. He was dead, she’d been just a little too late.

Movement in the undergrowth distracted Faith from her regret at getting to Witty too late. A few rounds from the RPD brought another Yemali stumbling out of the bushes. She could sense the enemy soldiers moving towards her, just as she could sense Cordy, Faulkner and the Raisuli moving through the trees on the other side of the river. It was time for her to go.

Tossing a grenade into the bushes, Faith followed up the explosion with a long burst of machine gun fire before she turned and jumped down into the river. Luckily the river was only about knee deep and didn’t really slow her down. Half way across, Faith flinched away from a burst of fire that churned up the water next to her. Turning as she brought the RPD to bear she saw a dozen Yemalies splashing through the water towards her. Firing she cut down three of them before her weapon stopped firing.

“GOD-DAMN-IT!” Faith snarled as she dropped the machine gun to let it hang from its strap around her neck.

Snatching the .45 automatic from the holster on her thigh, Faith started to fire. Yemalies started to fall their blood staining the water red as the big rounds punched into their bodies. By the time her pistol was empty there were only two Yemalies left; Faith reckoned they must be on drugs or something as they kept on coming at her with their machetes out ready to slice and dice her.

The first Yemali tried to cut her head off, stepping into the guy’s attack and using her empty pistol as a club, Faith smashed in his face leaving it a mass of bloody, broken bone. Dodging her second attacker she grabbed hold of his machete arm with her left hand and broke it with her right. The man screamed in pain as he went down on his knees, snatching the machete from his now useless hand, Faith used it to cut off his head with a single blow.

Standing in the middle of the river, Faith slammed a fresh magazine into her pistol before putting a fully loaded drum on her machine gun. Firing a long burst into the enemy held bank, Faith saw pieces of tree and bush fly into the air and watched as another Yemali fell into the river. Return fire came from at least six men hiding on the river bank, she got two before she decided that standing fully exposed in the middle of a river wasn’t a good tactical choice. Firing off one last burst, Faith headed for the friendly side of the river. More bullets followed her and churned up the water or hit the far bank with wet sounding slaps. However the fire wasn’t all one way. Someone was firing from behind a fallen tree off to her right.

“CORDY!” Faith yelled as she changed direction and ran the last few yards before vaulting the tree and coming to a halt next to Cordelia, “FREAKIN’ MARINES! Which part of ‘get outta here’ didn’t you understand?”

“If that’s the way you’re going to be about it…” Cordy paused as she fired at a group of Yemalies who had started to try and cross the river, “…you also told us to watch your back…” both women sent a blizzard of fire across the river forcing the Yemalies back into cover, “…and there was NO WAY I was going to tell General Mann I’d left you behind and you’d got yourself shot dead or something!”

“Okay,” Faith agreed; she could see why Cordy would want to come back for her, General Mann could be pretty scary when she wanted to be, “but let’s get outta here.”

“Okay,” Cordy nodded, “there’s a bank back where the path runs through the bush,” she pointed to the rear, “cover me to there then I’ll cover you as you back out, okay?”

“Roger that!” Faith confirmed; she fired a long burst to keep the Yemali’s heads down, “GO! GO! GO!”

Jumping to her feet Cordy sprinted for the bank as she tried to ignore the bullets that cracked and buzzed through the air next to her head. Throwing herself over the bank, Cordy turned to give Faith covering fire.

“Run you stupid bitch,” Cordy muttered as she fired, willing Faith to move faster.

Weapon in one hand Faith pounded down the path past Cordy as she headed for a new position from where she could give her covering fire. Firing short aimed bursts Cordy knocked down a few more Yemalies before they could cross the river. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Faith running on down the track. Turning back to watch the river, Cordy gave a little cry of alarm as she saw what looked like wall to wall Yemalies coming at her.

“Where the hell…?” Cordy began to ask but decided her time would be better spent firing rather than asking herself stupid questions.

Firing a long burst, Cordy watched as several of her attackers stumbled and fell into the water. Return fire was cutting twigs and branches from the small tree she was hiding behind. Taking a couple of grenades from her pockets she threw them, one after another, at the Yemalies. As soon as the first grenade exploded she jumped to her feet and started to run.

0=0=0=0

Jumping into a shallow depression, Faith knocked the RPD’s bi-pod into position and got down into a firing position. Looking back down the track she could see Cordy sprinting for all she was worth back towards her position. Sensible Marine that Cordy was, she tried to keep Faith’s line of fire clear. Bringing the butt of the RPD into her shoulder, Faith watched as a horde of Yemalies appeared to boil over the earthen bank where Cordy had been firing from. They fired wildly at Cordy as they came on, yelling and screaming as they went.

Pulling the trigger of her weapon, Faith watched the 7.62 rounds chop into the crowd of Yemalies. Men fell as they clutched at wounds. Some would run on a step or two before they fell to the ground, some span away from the bullets that tore into their ranks, colliding with their comrades before eventually falling to the bloody earth. Still others stopped dead and just fell to the ground as if they’d fainted. However they died, Faith kept firing. Pausing long enough to throw another grenade, Cordy was soon running towards Faith position again. Faith went back to firing short bursts at the Yemalies as they popped up from behind the bank to fire a few rounds at the mercenaries.

“MOVE IT MARINE!” Faith yelled as Cordy pounded towards her.

“I’M DOING THE BEST…!” Cordy never got to say what she was doing her best at; a bullet caught her and she tumbled to the ground only a couple of yards short of where Faith lay.

“CORDY!” Faith screamed as she jumped up out of her hole to save her buddy.

0=0=0=0


	10. Chapter 10

10.

**Near Kolema Village, Southern Yemalia.**

“OOOWWW!” THAT HURTS!” complained Cordelia as Faith dragged her into her little fighting hole.

Torn between checking on her wounded friend and keeping the Yemalies at a distance, Faith picked up her RPD again and started to send controlled bursts at the enemy soldiers.

“How bad is it?” Faith wanted to know as she fired off another burst which hit two Yemalies who were trying to sneak around her flank.

“I’m not sure,” Cordy called back as she used her K-Bar to cut open the leg of her camouflaged pants, “Damn-it!” Cordy started to open a field dressing.

“Well?” Faith snatched up Cordy’s AK, fired off the remaining rounds in its magazine before changing the ammo drum on her own weapon, “How bad is it?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Cordy rapidly wrapped a field dressing around her lower leg, “I totally won’t be wearing any short skirts for a month or two!”

“What!?” distracted for a moment Faith looked at Cordy demanding an explanation.

“Look I’ll be fine,” Cordy reassured her, “the round grazed the fleshy part of my leg, it’s not even a through and through…I’ll be fine…” Cordy jerked her head towards the Yemalies, “…Faith!”

Turning to watch her front, Faith found a dozen or so Yemalies had climbed over the bank and were advancing on her little position firing as they came.

“BASTARDS!” Faith yelled before she cut half of them down with one long burst.

Tossing a grenade, Cordy dealt with two or three others and forced the remainder to run for cover. They never made it as another burst from Faith’s RPD made them all tumble to the ground and lie still.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Faith checked her spare ammo, it didn’t look good; only two drums left and what she had in her weapon.

“I can walk,” Cordy assured her as she swapped her empty magazine for a full one, “just don’t expect me to dance!”

“Okay,” Faith peered over the lip of their hole; the Yemalies were keeping under cover for the moment, “let’s go!”

Standing up, Faith sprayed the Yemali positions with fire to keep their heads down while Cordy heaved herself to her feet.

“Ow! Ow!” Cordy cried as she tried to hop her way to safety.

“Here!” Faith turned her back to Cordy, “Hop aboard.” Not needing to be told twice Cordy climbed up on Faith’s back, “You okay?” Faith wanted to know as she sorted out Cordy’s legs and her RPD.

“Move it Ranger!” Cordy replied, adding, “Giddy-up!”

Holding Cordy’s legs, Faith climbed out of the hole and started to sprint in the direction she thought Faulkner had taken.

“A-A-A-AGH!” Cordy cried as she bounced up and down with each step Faith took.

Released from the wickedly accurate fire directed at them the Yemalies came out of cover and started to pursue the two western women who’d caused them so many casualties. Bullets whipped around Cordy’s ears as she clung onto Faith’s back and thanked insane scientists for turning Faith into what she was. For her part Faith was running at high speed as she dodged between bushes and trees. Her sharp eyes searched for any sign that Colonel Faulkner might have left, but she couldn’t see anything. 

If she moved slower she’d be able to pick up any tracks there might be, but then the Yemalies would catch up to them. Faith wasn’t worried for herself, she’d go down fighting forcing the Yemalies to kill her; it was Cordy who she worried about. Her friend wasn’t a fighter, she certainly wasn’t a super-soldier, if the Yemalies caught her they’d play with her for hours possibly days before finally killing her; she wouldn’t let that happen to her friend. So, Faith told herself that before she died she’d have to make sure Cordy was already dead. But that needn’t happen if they got away, Faith increased her pace a little, she would just have to make sure they got away.

Running into a clearing, Faith was horrified to see three Yemali soldiers already there. How the hell had they got in front of her, she asked as she got the RPD disentangled from Cordy’s legs. Firing short bursts at each man she killed them before they’d come to terms with being in danger. Hardly breaking her step, Faith jumped over the first body only to be caught in mid air by the blast from a grenade. Tumbling to the ground, Faith and Cordy rolled across the forest floor in a tangle of arms, legs and weapons.

Bells rang in her ears as Faith tried to push herself up on her hands and find her weapon, she seemed to be seeing two of everyone and everything but the bells ringing in her head sounded muffled like someone had put a pillow over her ears. Suddenly the sound of an AK going off near by made her wince as the world came back into sharp focus. Sitting on the ground next to Faith, Cordy blasted a Yemali in two with a burst from her AK.

“You okay Faith?” Cordy cried as she searched for more targets.

“Five by five,” Faith staggered a little as she pushed herself to her feet, “let’s make like a shepherd…” Faith forced a grin, “…let’s get the flock outta here!”

“You really need to get some new material,” Cordy told her as she used the butt of her AK to help her stand up.

“Critics,” Faith picked up her RPD and checked it was still in working order; it was, the Russians built to last, “Everyone’s a freakin’ critic…” Faith looked around and choose a direction, “…come on, this way.”

Machine-gun in one hand, Faith wrapped her spare arm around Cordy’s waist to help the brunette walk. Favouring her wounded leg, Cordy started to feel worried, normally she never felt worried not when Faith was near but this time…well, things looked bad.

“CHIEF!” came a loud voice from the treeline, “Miss Chase, this is no time to be acting like a couple of girlfriends on a spree!”

“What the…!?” Cordy and Faith turned to find RSM Young and half a dozen men burst out of the undergrowth.

“You two,” RSM Young waved a couple of his men forward, “help Miss Chase,” he turned to Faith, “You alright Faith?”

“Sure,” Faith nodded, “ears are ringing, but otherwise I’m fine, where’s the Colonel and the Raisuli?”

“They’re fine, there’s a village up ahead,” Young gestured through the forest, “we met up with them there, the Colonel sent us back to find you.”

“Thanks,” Faith started to walk along side the RSM as the mercenaries started to fade back into the undergrowth, “just for a moment back there, it felt like we were fighting the whole Yemali army by ourselves.”

0=0=0=0

**Kolema Village, Southern Yemalia.**

The village of Kolema was a typical village you’d find anywhere in Sub-Saharan Africa. Mud walled huts with thatched roofs surrounded by a thorn bush stockade to keep out the wild animals. The villagers in this part of Yemalia were Africans who’d long ago been converted to Islam, while they weren’t openly hostile to the white mercenaries they weren’t exactly welcoming either.

“Glad that you’ve decided to join us, Miss Chase, Miss Lehane,” Colonel Faulkner greeted them as they walked into what passed for a village square.

“Hey,” Faith shrugged, “thought we’d take in a few of the bars an' nightclubs on the way over, Colonel.”

“Well anyway, I’m glad you’re both here especially you Miss Chase,” the Colonel had been standing with Rafer Janders and Shaun Fynn but now he’d walked over to where the two mercenaries held Cordy upright, “do you feel up to a spot of flying?”

“Depends how hard I have to flap my arms, Colonel,” Cordy replied, “or have you found me an aircraft?”

“Actually it was Rafer,” Faulkner gestured to his friend, “apparently there’s a small oil field near by and there’s an old Chinook transport chopper just waiting for a young woman, such as yourself, to fly it away.”

“How far…?” Cordy asked, “…no don’t bother telling me, I’d walk a hundred miles over broken glass to get outta this hell-hole.”

“Well hopefully that won’t be necessary,” Faulkner reassured her, he turned to call Shaun Fynn over, “Shaun, take Miss Chase and her supporters club,” Faulkner indicated the two soldiers who were helping Cordy stay on her feet, “and check this machine out, then send word back to us here. We’ll be following along with the Raisuli…”

“Of course, Sir,” Shaun signalled for Cordy and her soldiers to follow him along the track that led out of the village.

“Now, Miss Lehane,” Faulkner led Faith and Rafer over to a spot of shade under one of the hut’s roofs, “We’ve got to decide where we’re going,” Faulkner looked around for RSM Young, “Mr Young you better be in on this as well.”

It was traditional in Mercenary units that the unit’s senior NCO would represent the men’s best interests. Once the three men and Faith had settled themselves under the shade of the roof, Rafer Janders stated to explain the situation.

“You see its like this,” Rafer got out a large scale map of Yemalia and spread it on the ground, “most of the Raisuli’s support comes from the north of the country. Now I had hoped that we might be able to get him north to his tribesmen and start a Jihad. But, that was before we found out that the Pasha had an airforce with aircraft that can actually fly. I mean,” Rafer gave a tried laugh, “Chinooks aren’t that speedy, even one of those Hinds would be able to shoot it down, the Pasha wouldn’t need fighters.”

“Okay so we can’t go north,” Faulkner replied, “I’d never liked that idea as we’d have to cross the centre of Yemalia much of which is under the Pasha’s control.”

“We could go on south to umBonga,” Rafer pointed to the border on the map, “chances are there’s nothing much between us and the border but…”

“But?” Faith looked up from the map.

“I have a nasty feeling that when we were betrayed,” Rafer continued, “the umBongans were told not to let us back into their country…” Rafer looked at each of the people around the map, “…and I happen to known that umBonga has a small but airworthy airforce quite capable of knocking one old Chinook out of the sky…”

“So that leaves us east or west,” Faulkner gestured to the map, “West I doubt we’d have any better luck than if we flew back to umBonga, so that leaves east and the sea…”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Faith.

“What ya all looking at me for?” Faith asked uncomfortably.

“Well,” Rafer whispered conspiratorially, “as our local CIA spook we were hoping there might me a US Navy ship that would be willing to pick up a bunch of lost mercenaries.”

“Hey look guys,” Faith held up her hands in a defensive gesture, “this mission was never supposed to turn out like this. Cordy an’ me were supposed to ex-filtrate with you guys and disappear once the Raisuli was somewhere safe. No one thought that Neidermyer would screw us over, so no emergency pick-up was organised. If things went South, Cordy and me were supposed to get out best we could and high tail it to the nearest US outpost.”

“Oh…” Rafer shook his head.

“…shit,” Faulkner added.

“Erm, excuse me Colonel,” everyone turned to look at RSM Young, “correct me if I’m wrong but aren’t there a lot of warships up and down the coast because of all the pirates in these waters?”

“My god you’re right,” Rafer’s face split into a grin for a second before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, “but we’d never get one of them to come in shore to take us off the beaches.”

“I don’t think that was what the RSM was thinking,” Faith pointed out.

“No,” Young shook his head, “if we ditch in the sea next to one of the ships they’ve got to pick us up, its international law.”

“And the law of the sea which is way older,” Faith pointed out helpfully.

“But the sharks, Sandy?” Faulkner reminded everyone.

“I’d rather take my chances with the sharks than wait for the Pasha’s guards to get to us,” Faith pointed out.

“You think the men will go for it?” Rafer asked RSM Young.

“They will when I give them the options,” Sandy Young replied, “shall I get the men ready to move?”

“Yes,” sighed Faulkner, “you might as well,” he turned to look at Faith, “Do you think Miss Chase can pull this off?”

“Cordy?” Faith laughed, “She’s crashed choppers all over the world I’m sure the Marine Corps taught her how to crash into the sea!” Taking a deep breath Faith became more serious, “Hell, Colonel, Cordy will do her damnedest to get us outta here, just you wait an’ see.”

“I know she will, Chief,” Faulkner shrugged, “it’s just that sometimes even Colonels need a little reassurance.”

0=0=0=0

**An Air Strip near Kolema Village.**

Walking nonchalantly out of the bush Shaun Fynn came up behind the technician that was working on the helicopter.

“It’s alright we’ll take it from here,” Shaun announced; the technician turned to see the mercenary pointing a pistol at him.

Giving a cry of alarm the technician turned to run and ran straight into the butt belonging to the rifle of one of Cordy’s supporters. The technician fell to the ground unconscious.

“What do you think, Cordelia?” Shaun asked once Cordy’s other supporter had brought her over to the chopper; Cordy looked at the rusty collection of nuts and bolts with trepidation.

“I think this is one of the Chinooks that was built by the Wright brothers,” Cordy explained.

“Yes, but will it fly?” Shaun wanted to know.

“Get me into the cockpit and I’ll tell you,” Cordy replied.

Taking hold of Cordelia from the soldier, Shaun helped her in through the loading rap and towards the flight deck.

“Will this thing get off the ground with everyone aboard?” Shaun wanted to know as they headed towards the front of the aircraft.

“Should do,” Cordy replied, “I’ve never heard of one of these things being overloaded with an internal payload.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Shaun deposited Cordy in the pilot’s seat, “what’s it look like?”

“Hey give a girl a chance,” Cordy started switching switches and watching lights light up, after a minute or two she seemed satisfied. “As long as the engines start and we’ve got fuel I’d say we’re good to go.”

“Well there’s not much I can do about the engines,” Shaun smiled down at her, “but if you tell me where to put the petrol in I might be able to help.”

0=0=0=0

**Kolema Village.**

Faith was walking between the villager’s huts; she was just going to check on her old friend the Raisuli when she stopped dead in her tracks. Turning and looking to the north, Faith found she could feel the Yemali soldiers heading for the village, her stomach started to churn as the ‘ambush cramps’ sent her sharp warning signals.

“COLONEL!” Faith yelled as she started back for the centre of the village, “They’re coming!”

“Who?” Faulkner turned to see Faith running towards him.

“The Pasha’s guys,” Faith explained as she skidded to a halt in front of Faulkner, “they musta tracked us…not difficult as we left a trail of bodies behind us.”

“How do you know?” The Colonel was moving now to rally his men.

“I just do, okay?” Faith explained, “If we don’t get outta here like _now_ they’ll surround us and chop us to dog meat!”

0=0=0=0


	11. Chapter 11

11A.

_Then out spake brave Horatius,  
The Captain of the Gate:  
To every man upon this earth  
Death cometh soon or late.  
And how can man die better  
Than facing fearful odds,  
For the ashes of his fathers,  
And the temples of his Gods._

**Kolema Village.**

“MOVE IT! MOVE IT!” Faith encouraged the soldiers sent to help carry the Raisuli to safety.

“Miss Lehane...Faith...” the Raisuli called weakly from his stretcher as the four mercenaries picked him up and started to move, “...I beg you, for the love of Allah, leave me with a pistol and save yourself and your men.”

“Not gonna happen,” Faith watched as her party moved the Raisuli out of the hut where he’d been resting, “look I’ve got my orders; ya wouldn’t want me to disobey ‘em, would ya?”

“Even if they’re foolish, pointless orders?” The Raisuli wanted to know.

“Hey man, ours is not to reason why an’ all that crap,” Faith told him.

“'Ours is but to do and die',” the Raisuli completed the quote, adding, “you’re a great deal of trouble Miss Lehane. Can you not see it in your heart to let an old man die with at least a modicum of honour?”

“Ya not dead yet,” Faith told the old brigand, she turned to the men carrying the stretcher, “come on guys get moving, I’ll watch ya backs.”

Letting the men with the stretcher move ahead of her, Faith hung back and watched the village for a moment. The sense that she was going to be surrounded very soon grew stronger with every passing second. Walking backwards so she could cover the village for as long as possible, she could feel the mercenaries to either side of her and to her front. Faith and her party were moving in the centre of a small triangle made up of the rest of the mercenary force. The problem was there were far too few mercenaries and far too many Yemalies coming after them.

The terrain didn’t help either; once again after the lush, green, almost jungle like terrain by the river, the ground near the village had turned to thorn-bush and dried grass. Nowhere could Faith see more that fifty metres; this meant the Yemalies could get real close without her or the mercenaries seeing them. All the Yemalies needed to do was to sweep through the area in an extended line and then concentrate wherever they met resistance. Trotting up behind the stretcher party, Faith tapped the Lance Corporal in charge on the shoulder.

“Look, I’m dropping back,” Faith gave the man a murderous grin, “see if I can’t slow ‘em down, y’know what I mean?” The corporal nodded, he knew exactly what Faith meant, “Keep ‘em going, if ya don’t get the Raisuli outta here this’ll all have been for nothin’.”

“Wilco,” the mercenary replied with a nod, “good luck Ma’am.”

“Don’t need it, and don't call me 'ma'am'!” Faith laughed as she started to walk back towards the village, “Rangers lead the way,” she called, “or in this case, cover ya asses!”

Trotting on towards the village, Faith could sense the Yemalies ahead of her. They were moving rapidly through the village and would be out on her side in only a few more moments; at least that was what her gut was telling her. Stepping off the path she’d been using, Faith ducked down and hid under a thorn bush and waited. Clutching her RPD and ready for action, she listened hard, very soon she heard the sound of booted feet making their way rapidly towards her. Whispered commands in Yemali came to her ears as she listened to equipment and uniforms brush against the sharp thorns of the bushes.

Shifting slightly so she was even further under the bush Faith made herself as small as possible. Watching from the shade of the bush she saw several pairs of boots pass her by as they followed the mercenaries towards the airstrip. Coming out from her cover, Faith fired a burst into the backs of the three men who’d just trotted by her. The Yemali troopers cried out in alarm even as they fell to Faith’s deadly fire. Not waiting to find out if she’d killed them all, she moved to her left. If she moved left or right she knew she was bound to come across even more Yemalies.

Sure enough, Faith hadn’t gone more than a few yards when she came across a couple of Yemalies advancing through the bush. One of the soldiers must have sensed her because he started to turn to bring his rifle to bear. But Faith didn’t give him or his buddy a chance; squeezing the trigger of the RPD she sent a burst of fire that cut down the two Yemalies before they even knew what was truly happening.

Running now, Faith moved silently through the bush, if she was lucky and her senses were right, she’d got herself onto the end of the Yemali line that was sweeping through the bush. If she was quick, she could catch them in the flank and work her way down their line. With a little more luck she could take out a significant number of Yemalies before the main force knew they’d been ambushed.

0=0=0=0

**The Airstrip.**

Throwing the empty fuel can to one side, Shaun Fynn looked up at the sound of firing coming from the bush.

“Damn-it-all,” he muttered before looking over at the two mercenaries who’d been helping him, “you two take up position on the edge of the airstrip, I’m going to check on Miss Chase then I’ll join you.”

Nodding their understanding the two soldiers picked up their rifles and headed towards the sound of the firing. Jumping down from where he’d been refuelling the chopper, Shaun grabbed his own rifle before running into the aircraft through the rear loading ramp. Quickly he made his way to the front of the aircraft, where he found Cordy making some last minute checks.

“How’s it going Cordelia?” Shaun asked urgently.

“Should…” Cordy flipped some switches and checked a couple of gauges, “…be ready to go…” Cordy nodded her head, “...just about…now!”

“Good, hear that?” Shaun gestured in the direction of the firing coming to them from out of the bush, “Sounds like we’ve got company.”

“Better wind her up,” Cordy’s hand reached for the starter buttons, “I mean we’d look totally stupid if the Colonel got here and his ride didn’t work.”

“You know one of the things I like you, Cordy? It's your unbounded confidence,” Shaun kissed her on the cheek before heading off back into the cargo compartment.

“Get outta here,” Cordy laughed, but she’d noticed Shaun had said ‘liked’ not ‘loved’, “Oh well,” she sighed as she flipped switches and listened to the starters kick in, “I did say he wasn’t a ‘keeper’.”

Sitting back in her seat Cordy listened as the engines coughed and spluttered into life and the big heavy rotors slowly stated to turn above her head.

0=0=0=0

**Faith.**

Ducking out of sight, Faith changed the drum on her RPD, it was her last one, time to find the main force and get out of here. Having taken out almost a platoon’s worth of Yemalies she’d sensed and heard more men coming up from the direction of the village. There were just too many bad guys for her to fight; in the journey from Zimbarla to Kolema they must have seriously screwed up an enemy company. This meant that if the reports were right and there was a battalion after them, there was at least two, possibly three, more companies out there racing to surround them. This was no place for one little lost Ranger, even if she was a super-soldier, it was time for her to leave.

0=0=0=0

**Faulk-Force.**

Firing at a group of Yemalies who’d been working around his flank, Colonel Faulkner ducked down behind a bush to reload. The Yemalies were using traditional tactics, the Horns of the Buffalo as the Zulus had called it. A main force would attack and drew the enemy into the trap formed by the ‘Horns’ that would rush around the enemy’s flanks and attack from all sides. 

Given his own forces lack of numbers the only thing they could do was to keep moving and hope to out run the horns before they joined up behind them. Ducking down as RPG rockets flashed above his head, Faulkner heaved himself to his feet again and reflected on the fact that he was getting far too old for this sort of thing.

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**Faith**

“FRIENDLY COMIN’ IN!” Faith yelled as she ran around a bush; two mercenaries almost shot her but relaxed when they saw who it was. “Get ready, there’s bad guys right behind me!”

Sliding to a halt, Faith turned to stand next to the two troopers. Within seconds a Yemali squad appeared; startled by suddenly finding themselves face to face with the enemy they hesitated before opening fire. The three Westerners cut down the Africans in a blast of automatic fire. Casting her empty RPD to one side, Faith drew her pistol as she joined the mercenaries in their retreat.

“Not far now,” called the mercenary to her right, “the airstrips just up...UUGH!”

There was a wet sounding slap as a bullet hit the soldier, he went down, shot in the back. Coming to a halt, Faith took a couple of pot shots at the indistinct shadows that moved around between the bushes. Checking on the downed soldier, Faith found he was dead. Just as she was about to get up and continue running four Yemalies sprang out of the bush only a couple of yards away. Firing rapidly, she brought down two of them but wasn’t quite fast enough to draw a bead on the other two. One man barrelled into her as she was turning to fire, unbalanced Faith and the Yemali fell to the floor.

Dropping her pistol, Faith grabbed hold of her attackers head and twisted it until his neck broke. Pushing the dead body from on top of her she was just in time to get the fourth man’s bayonet in her side. Screaming in anger, she brought her left leg around and kicked him on the side of his knee. Going down on one knee the Yemali tried to bring his rifle to bear only to have it snatched from his hands by the angry woman as she struggled to her feet. Throwing the rifle away, Faith brought her fist round and punched the Yemali in the face. The man’s nose exploded as blood and bone fragments covered his face, he fell over backwards and lay still.

“Oh crap!” Faith groaned as she saw the blood leaking from the wound. 

Clamping her hand over the wound in her side, Faith gathered up her pistol which was still attached to the end of its lanyard and made off towards the airfield. By now she could hear the noise of the chopper’s engines over the sound of all the small arms fire. RPG’s seemed to be thick as bugs on crap as they criss-crossed the air above her head. If just one of those rockets hit the chopper, that was it, they were all dead.

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**Faulk-Force.**

Organising a dozen men into a firing line, Faulkner laid down covering fire for his few remaining men to get aboard the chopper. He’d seen friends of many years die today. Sandy Young had died trying to hold back the Yemali hordes; Jock McTaggart had fallen with him. Rafer, although hit was still with him but Faith Lehane was nowhere to be seen. He hoped she’d been killed and not captured, the Pasha’s Guards weren’t known as the greatest of humanitarians. Firing off the last of the ammunition for his AK, Faulkner drew his pistol and started to fire with that.

“Okay men,” he shouted over the noise of all the firing, “on to the chopper its time to leave!”

Only eight of his men got up and one of them was hit almost as soon as he stood up. Looking over his shoulder, Faulkner saw the chopper, an impossibly distant goal. ‘Damn-it’, he told himself, it was too far he’d never make it, he might as well stay here and do what he could to cover his men’s escape. Picking up a discarded rifle, Faulkner fired at the advancing Yemalies only to get blow off his feet as an RPG exploded next to him.

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**Faith.**

Stumbling out of the bush and onto the airstrip, Faith winced at the pain in her side, if she’d been a normal woman she’d be dead or unconscious by now. But she wasn’t, she was Faith the Super-Soldier, product of a mad scientist’s insane dreams. As she limped towards the waiting chopper, Faith grinned to herself, just about now she could have done with a few super-soldier-sisters. In a way it was a pity that Professor Walsh’s dreams hadn’t come true. Turning to fire at a Yemali who was getting too close, Faith nearly fell over the body of one of the downed mercenaries. Looking down she saw that it was Colonel Faulkner, blood trickled from several shrapnel wounds but he was still alive.

“Come on Colonel,” Faith started to drag the man along the ground and towards the chopper, “no time for sleeping on the job!”

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**Cordy’s Chopper.**

“SHAUN!” Cordy screamed loud enough to break glass.

“W-what!?” a harassed Shaun Fynn stuck his head back into the cockpit, not only was he trying to deal with all the wounded but he was also trying to give covering fire to the men who were still attempting to make it back to the chopper.

“FAITH AND THE COLONEL,” Cordy jerked her head to where Faith and Colonel Faulkner staggered towards the chopper.

“I see them!” Shaun ducked out of the cockpit, picked up a loaded rifle and stood in the chopper’s side door giving covering fire as best he could.

The down wash from the rotors nearly knocked Faith off her feet; managing to stay upright she dragged Faulkner towards where Shaun was waiting for her. Shaun brought down two Yemalies who were closing with Faith and the Colonel, their machetes in their hands and murder in their eyes. Unfortunately only one man went down before Shaun's rifle ran dry. But it was enough warning for Faith to turn and shoot the last man, her pistol locking open on an empty magazine as she did so.

Reaching out his hand Shaun took hold of the Colonel's collar and prepared to drag him into the chopper. Even as Faith and himself bundled the old soldier through the door, Cordy had the Chinook moving forwards slowly. After pushing Faulkner through the door, Faith prepared herself to clamber aboard aboard, while Shaun yelled for Cordy to get them airborne.

Up in the cockpit, Cordy fed more power from the engines to the rotors and felt the old machine shudder and shake as if it was going to fall apart. Twisting the throttle and pulling up on the collective, she felt the chopper leave the ground like a reluctant old warhorse going into battle for the last time. As soon as the Chinook was above the level of the bushes Cordy started to hear the, *PLINK-PLINK!* of bullets as they hit the aircraft. Jerking her head back she saw two RPG rockets come perilously close. This was no place for a good Sunnydale girl to be, Cordy told herself as she increased speed and tried to gain height. Back in the cargo compartment, Shaun looked out of the side door. To his horror he saw Faith still standing in the dust of the airstrip a look of disbelief on her face.

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**Faith.**

The pain in her back told Faith she'd been shot and that she'd never make it to the chopper.

“Damn-it-to-hell!” Faith cried hardly able to hear herself over the sound of the chopper's engines, “So that's it, huh?” she asked herself as she watched the chopper get further and further away, “What a shit hole to die in...”

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**Cordy's Chopper.**

“CORDELIA, STOP!” Shaun yelled as he burst into the cockpit.

“If I stop now I'll never get this rust bucket to fly again,” Cordy cried as she nursed the helicopter into the air.

“But Faith...!” Shaun called helplessly as he pointed to where Faith stood.

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**Faith.**

Watching as the chopper slowly gained some altitude, Faith forced a smile, her few remaining friends had escaped. Bullets cracked above her head and RPGs whooshed through the air as they chased the old Chinook.

“TOO LATE YOU FUCKIN', MURDERIN', BASTARDS!” Faith shouted at the advancing Yemalies

Seeing a discarded rifle lying in the dust she moved to pick it up, but her legs gave away. Everything below her waist felt numb and her legs wouldn't answer the commands her brain sent them. Pulling herself along the ground by her arms she crawled across the sand and reached for the rifle.

“CRAP!” Faith cried out as the pain from her wounds lanced through her body, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her back she checked that the weapon's magazine; it was full.

“Okay you shits,” Faith cocked her weapon, she'd done her duty it was time for the end game now, “I'll show you how a Ranger can die!”

They were pretty good last words, but there was no one there to hear them. Pushing herself up into a sitting position she commenced firing steadily from the shoulder, sending Yemalies tumbling into the dust with every round she fired. Laughing, Faith could see it all so clearly now, she understood everything; this was what she'd always been designed to do, Maggie Walsh would have been so proud of her.

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**Later.**

“How're you doing?” Shaun Fynn, who appeared to be the only one who’d not been hit asked Cordelia as they sped towards the open sea and hopefully rescue by a friendly warship.

“Not so bad,” Cordy shrugged, “I’ve been worse, how’s everyone else?”

“There’s only thirteen of us left,” Shaun told her, “most everyone is wounded…Sandy Young and Rafer got hit on the ground, they’re dead. Colonel’s hit but he’ll survive…Faith...”

“The Raisuli?” Cordy asked, she turned her head so Shaun wouldn't see her tears.

“Sorry,” Shaun glanced back into the helicopter's cargo area, “I’m afraid he’s dead, stray round hit him after we’d got him aboard, he died instantly…sorry I know you liked him.”

“Crap man!” Tears started to trickle down Cordy’s cheek, angrily she wiped them away, “So all this was for nothing? Faith and all those guys killed just so that asshole, Neidermyer could get a better deal outta the Pasha.”

“Worse than that, old thing,” Shaun added sadly, “if what the Colonel thinks is true we were just hung out to dry once Neidermyer didn’t need us anymore…he’ll have to die of course.”

“Of course,” Cordy agreed with a curt nod, “can I do it?”

“For Faith?” Shaun asked.

“Yeah,” Cordy nodded her head again, “for everyone, but mostly for Faith.”

0=0=0=0


	12. Chapter 12

12A.

**The Epilogue.**

**Simon Neidermyer’s Country Estate, Hampshire, England.**

Waving as the embassy car drove away from the front door of the mansion house and on down the long drive to the main road, Simon Neidermyer sighed heavily. It had been a long tiresome evening entertaining the Yemali Ambassador, but he supposed it had been worthwhile, at least for now. Turning as the car’s red tail lights disappeared into the dark Hampshire night; Neidermyer walked back into the house and pulled the front door closed behind him.

“Will there be anything else this evening sir?” Neidermyer’s butler asked.

“No,” Neidermyer paused as he headed for the door to his study, “no, that’s all.”

“Good night then, sir,” the butler replied.

With a terse ‘good night’, Neidermyer opened the door and walked into his study before closing the door firmly behind him.

His study was the only place in the house that he felt he could truly be alone. Walking across the expensively furnished room to the table that stood in the centre of the room. Neidermyer helped himself to a brandy from the tray that had been placed next to his prize chess set; an antique that had cost him a small fortune. Looking at the chess board he contemplated his next move in a game he’d been playing against himself over the last few weeks. He found chess so much like his business deals. The opening moves as each player sort out the other’s weaknesses and then the triumph of having his opponent at his mercy as he moved in for the kill. Standing over the chessboard, Neidermyer sniffed at his fine old brandy as he reached out to move one of the pieces across the board. Before he’d even touched the piece the door behind him opened.

“Yes, what is it Andrews?” Neidermyer asked not bothering to turn around and look at his butler.

“There will be something more tonight Neidermyer,” Cordy slipped into the room, gun in hand, and closed the door quietly behind her; she looked down at the board, “go ahead make your move.” Cordy watched as Neidermyer moved the black knight, “That’ll be mate in two,” she smiled she'd taken chess lessons from Faith, “I’d like to see you get out of that….but that’s for some other time, right?”

Cordy pointed her pistol at Neidermyer as he turned to face her; she had to give it to the bastard, he didn’t look even one little bit scared of what she might do. Perhaps he thought he could talk himself out of trouble.

“There are six servants in the house,” Neidermyer told her as if that was going to deflect her from what she’d come to do.

“Six?” Cordy replied slightly surprised, “I’d guessed ten,” she grinned, “how do you make do?”

“What do you want Chase?” Neidermyer snapped; Cordy was surprised that he’d even bothered to get to know her name. “I know you’re dying for me to ask, so, how did you get in here?”

“US Army Rangers do a very good course in breaking and entering and how to disable security systems,” Cordelia pointed out, “you’re not very safe out here. I’m sure you're dying to know how I got out of Yemalia.”

“Oh I am indeed,” Neidermyer took a step towards Cordy but she just backed up a little and pointed her silenced pistol at the middle of his chest, Neidermyer came to a halt still two yards away from her.

“Look,” Cordelia sighed, “if I gave you a blow by blow account we’d be here all night,” she explained, “lets just say it wasn’t easy…but it helps if you have friends in high places.”

“Ah,” Neidermyer smiled, “the CIA connection.”

“And other people,” Cordy nodded; the Watcher’s Council people had been more than helpful too; they’d made the surviving mercenaries disappear even when the CIA and their home governments wouldn’t touch them with a barge pole.

“You are a great deal of trouble, Miss Chase,” Neidermyer relaxed and smiled, “I have contracts out on you and your _friends_ all over the world…”

“Won’t do you any good,” Cordy shrugged, “but first I have my own ‘contract’ to worry about.”

“What, me?” Neidermyer almost laughed but stopped himself when Cordy moved her pistol and reminded him that he was in danger of being shot at any moment. “Perhaps we can come to an _arrangement_?”

“Yes we can,” Cordy sneered, “you owe people a great deal of money, there are eleven men still alive and I haven’t started to count the widows and orphans yet,” Cordelia smiled and gestured to the painting hanging over the fireplace, “let’s have a look in your safe…very quietly.”

Neidermyer turned towards the painting with its concealed safe and hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” Cordy reassured him, “I disabled the alarm in the frame…like I said you’re not very safe out here.”

Walking over to the fireplace, Neidermyer moved the painting like he was opening a closet to reveal the safe. Turning the dial on the safe’s door he quickly had it open to reveal the bundles of neatly counted money inside. Taking a cloth bag from her jacket pocket, Cordy tossed it to Neidermyer.

“Put the money in the bag,” she ordered; Neidermyer hurried to comply stuffing the cash into the bag, “Jeez,” Cordy whistled, “thousand dollar bills, I bet the Secret Service and the Treasury have been wondering where that’s been.” Satisfied she’d got all the cash, Cordelia rested her back against the wall and relaxed a little, “Okay, tell me about this arrangement?”

“There’s five-hundred thousand dollars there,” Neidermyer told her thinking that her _type_ were easily bought and sold, “about a tenth of what I owe you and the survivors…now I’ll lift all the contacts on you and your friends and pay you the balance in cash wherever you choose.”

“And I trust you?” Cordy asked, she couldn’t stop the incredulity she felt that Neidermyer thought she was stupid enough to accept his offer, from slipping into her voice.

“You do,” Neidermyer nodded.

“And I don’t kill you,” Cordy clarified.

“Correct,” Neidermyer smiled thinking he’d got Cordelia where he wanted her; he was unaware that Cordy had little interest in money...she had so much of her own, she didn't want his.

“No,” Cordy sighed heavily as she pushed herself away from the wall, “you know I had this speech ready,” she explained. “It was all about honour and duty and all that good stuff you and your kind don’t understand, I’ve been rehearsing it for a couple of weeks, it was pretty darn good; Faith would have been impressed, you’d have been impressed. But now I’m face-to-face with you I don’t really want to go through all that.”

Neidermyer started to look worried as Cordy continued to explain how she felt.

“You see I wouldn’t mind taking your money, but to have you offer me money for your life,” Cordelia shook her head, “what with Faith and all those other guys lying dead all over Africa it’s like degrading, you know?” Cordy paused for a moment before adding, almost sadly, “So I turn down your arrangements.”

“I see,” Neidermyer actually smiled at Cordy, he turned full on to her from about six feet away, “I suppose you’d better kill me then!”

He didn’t think for a minute that Cordy would actually fire he’d convinced himself that this little ‘whore’ of a Marine could be paid off. So it was with some surprise that he saw Cordy lift her weapon and aim it at his chest.

“Yeah I suppose I better had…” Cordy said sadly as she aimed her gun, “...if not for my own peace of mind, then in memory of Faith.”

“No!” Neidermyer cried realising he’d miss read his opponent, he raised his hands in a defensive gesture, “No, wait a minute I…!”

The pistol bucked in Cordy’s hand and there were two soft *PHUTS!* as the bullets hit Neidermyer in the chest and his blood started to stain the front of his expensive suit. Picking up the bag of money she went to stand over Neidermyer’s body, pointing her pistol she fired once more into his head, right between his eyes.

“For Faith,” she told herself before walking over to the French windows and on out into the night shrouded garden.

Walking swiftly around to the side of the house she saw Shaun Fynn waiting in his car. Stuffing the pistol into her pocket, Cordy walked over to the car, opened the passenger door and got in as Shaun started the engine.

“Do I have to ask how it went?” Shaun asked.

“No,” Cordy shook her head.

“Thought not,” Shaun put the car into gear and drove off out of the estate and back towards London.

THE END.

**Author's note:** 'Taps' the very last story in the 'Military Faith' Series follows almost immediately. 


End file.
